The End of Times. - 5. Assakia.

The sunlight spilled through the archway from the balcony. Sakina turned to look at Aksil, he stood silhouetted against the rising sun.

“Very soon our army will be ready.” Sakina smiled and moved to join her brother.

“Patience still,” Aksil stepped out onto the palace balcony. He walked across to stand near Baragsen, who was leaning, his arms outstretched on the parapet wall. “What’s so interesting?” He touched his younger brother's arm.

“I’m looking at the camp. It grows bigger by the day.”

Sakina followed Aksil outside, “When do we march?”

“Oh my sister, you are more blood thirsty than any man I know.”

She smirked, looking him straight in the eyes. “Not blood thirsty my brother, eager to start. But there will be blood spilt, that is certain.”

“We must wait for Ibn Firas!” Baragsen had not spoken, but now he voiced his opinion. He would not allow his sister to dictate to Aksil.

Sakina cocked her head in dismissal, “Huh, your lover and stupid inventor!”

Baragsen stared daggers at her, but Aksil intervened to calm his siblings aggression. “Peace!” He commanded, annoyed at their continuing bickering. “We will not argue amongst ourselves.”

At that moment a servant stepped out onto the balcony. He waited, head bowed, for Askil to acknowledge him. “Yes.”

“My Lord,” he kept his head bent, looking at the floor. “The sultan would see you in his chambers.”

Aksil dismissed the servant. “You will be civil with each other.” He looked first at his sister, then turned to Baragsen. “You don’t want to feel my wrath!” Leaving no time for any reply he walked back into the palace.

Sakina turned and followed, she had no desire to stay with her little brother. “Shaz! (Pervert!)” She spat at him under her breath.

“Alkaline!(Bitch!)” Baragsen wouldn't let it go.

“Enti wad walla bet? (Are you a boy or a girl?)”

She didn't wait to hear his riposte. That made him angry. She always made him angry with her snide remarks. He hated her, but she had his brother's favour, and he could not defy Aksil.

□□□□□

The palace was vast and the Sultan's chambers impressive. The two columns each side of the giant carved doors were painted in bright spiralling lines of red and purple, yellow and gold. The doors were embellished with gold, and the Sultan's crest. As he arrived, the two guards porting their long spears and carrying each a curved sword, sheaved in an ornate leather scabbard, opened the doors. He walked through.

His father lay against a bed of fine cushions on a raised plinth. At his side was Salmon, his favourite boy. Servants were many, but very discrete. The person of most interest was the elderly gentleman seated next to Gwafa, his father's advisor. Aksil regarded the stranger without being too obvious, his attention resting on his father. The elderly gentleman missed nothing, he caught the young man’s glance, but pretended not to notice.

“This gentleman brings us news. He informs me that the King of Angmar will join our jihad.”

Aksil now focused his attention on his father. He wondered exactly who was this king, and what forces would he bring. “That indeed would seem to be good news father.” He looked sideways at the messenger, whose features were well hidden beneath the hood of his threadbare gown.

“Once Ibn Firas arrives with the rest of our army, and the forces of our new ally, the King of Angmar join us, then we will begin.” He clapped his hands, rising slightly from his cushions. At the same time he reached for the boy Salmon and pulled him down next to his side. “Let us entertain our guest.”

The messenger was shown to another elaborately embroidered canopy of cushions on a plinth slightly lower than that of the Sultan. A band of musicians entered playing, followed by a group of boys. The famous dancing boys of Assakia. Aksil did not share his father's taste for boys, but custom obliged him to stay. It would be rude, and an insult to both the sultan and their guest, to leave. He settled himself down near to the messenger.

“To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” His stared directly at the man.

The messenger raised both hands and pulled back the hood of his garment, revealing himself to be elderly, but a person whose exact age was difficult to determine. He looked directly at Aksil, and what struck the Sultan’s heir was this man’s piercing blue eyes. “I am called Eönwë,” he smiled.

“You look sir, to have travelled far.” Aksil was determined to find out more about this messenger, his king, and the army he was bringing. After all, a friend and ally by all appearances, may easily turn one day into a foe.

“Indeed I have. Many leagues from the north.” Eönwë knew the young Prince sought information, but still he humoured him.

The festivities moved into full swing and soon after Baragsen and Sakina joined them. Aksil watched the dancing, listened to the music, and drank. He would have liked to talk with Gwafa, but now was not the time, that would have to wait. He excused himself sometime later, when his father had retired to an anti-room with Salmon. Sakina and Baragsen remained in the hall with their guest.

□□□□□

The time was approaching when the risk of sand storms would keep everyone in the city and inside, should a storm hit. The army must either march soon or wait out the passing of the danger, which could last a month or more.

It was with some relief that news reached Assakia that the King of Angmar would be here within the day. Preparations were made to house him and his entourage. The Sultan commanded a banquet in his honour. Everything must be perfect.

Sakina was called by her maid early in the morning. The horns of the gate guards blasted out across the city. Wrapped in a white silk gown she stepped out from her chambers onto the curved balcony that overlooked the large square in front of the palace. She stood there looking down at the soldiers rushing out to form the guard of honour. Crowds of peasants were swarming around the perimeter. It seemed like everyone in the city wanted to catch a glimpse of the King’s entry.

The striped flags and banners of the Sultan's palace flapped in the gusts of the hot desert wind. A sure sign that the storms would arrive soon. They might even be early this year. Rumour had spread in advance of the King’s arrival. Tales told of his cruelty, and his wicked temper. Stories spread about his Nubian bodyguards, who were supposed so tall and black that if you believed it, they were ebony giants. And equally well endowed! What was true and what was fantasy and invention was simply impossible to divine. The only evident truth was that rumours were always exaggerated in their repeating.

Another maid entered the room and came out onto the balcony. This was Elisha, Sakina's handmaiden. “If it pleases your Serenity. Your father, the Sultan, has requested the family's presence to greet the King and partake of leftour (breakfast).”

She turned to her maid, “Prepare my bath and clothes. I will be there shortly.” She too wanted to see the King arrive, perhaps catch a glimpse of him before their official introduction. As much activity went on in the rooms behind her, she stood waiting on the balcony. Her silk gown fluttered around her slim form, her long hair streamed in the gusts of wind. The air was dry and warm, it would soon be hot.

She did not have long to wait. The square was packed with cheering, shouting, and waving crowds, as the King of Angmar and his elite guards arrived at the far side of the place. But Sakina was disappointed not to be able to see the man himself, who was carried in a carriage born by four strong black slaves porting pointed turbans with green and gold ribbons. Two huge ebony warriors rode one each side of the carriage on pure black stallions. Their spears glinted in the early morning sun. ‘Perhaps these were the giants, the Nubian bodyguards?’

□□□□□

Eönwë had retired to his rooms in the palace late in the night, but he was not alone. Despite his protestations the Sultan had insisted he take Aqat with him, to ‘rouse the tired spirit’s of the young at heart.’ The boy had at first been scared that he had failed to please the honoured guest, but Eönwë had calmed his nerves. He had told him that he had an important task to which the boy must devote his full attention, and not fail, for much depended on him.

And so it was that Aqat mingled with the newly arrived army, and found his way to within sight of the great King. Now he hesitated before the old man awaiting permission to speak.

“Don’t look so worried my young buck. I will not bite, or harm you.”

Aqat stood averting his gaze, although his eyes drifted upwards to try to glimpse the expression of the old man. This did not escape Eönwë's notice and a smile crossed his lips.

“Well? What news do you bring me?”

The boy began to explain about the King and his entourage, about the vast army, and the rumour spreading through the city. But before he could continue his explanation of this rumour, Eönwë held up his hand.

“Wait.”

The boy stopped. Shifted nervously from one leg to the other. This made the Eönwë smile more, as he thought how easily the boy was controlled. He had not meant to sound harsh, but obviously the young Aqat had felt the strap or stick of another master, and was fearful.

“I merely want you to confirm to me the appearance of King Angmar.”

Aqat took a deep breath and recounted in detail his description of the King. He apologised for not being close enough to give more detail, but he was kept at a distance, along with everyone else by the Kings bodyguards.

Eönwë was satisfied it was indeed King Angmar, which he would confirm himself later at the banquet. But for now he needed to send a message.

“Go to the bazaar and find the man named Mordeth.”

Aqat looked up quizzically.

“He has an old shop with birds of many types in cages.”

Recognition replaced the puzzlement on Aqat's face.

“Tell him I sent you and give him this.” Eönwë handed over a tiny leather pouch, tied with a simple string.

“And when you get back you can tell me the rest of your story.” Eönwë had no interest in the rumour spreading through the city. He knew already what it was about, but he wanted to humour the boy.

□□□□□

“Eönwë sent you. That is what you said?”

The store holder stared at the young boy. A bird screeched, causing Aqat to nearly jump out of his skin. The man chuckled out loud.

“That’s old Toby. He makes a noise to scare the devil himself.”

Aqat tentatively proffered the little pouch. The man took it and weighed it in his hands.

“It’s rather light.”

This statement almost sent the boy into a panic.

“I’m only testing you,” the store keeper smiled.

Aqat breathed again.

“Tell him it’s done.”

And with that the man shooed the boy away. But despite being anxious and just a little frightened by the man with his menagerie of feathered beasts, he crept back to see what the store keeper would do. Aqat did not get too close, after all, not all the birds were in cages. Toby was simply on a perch, and it seemed his huge eyes followed every movement. Still he managed to position himself to watch the man untie the sack. Then he disappeared a moment, re-emerging from the rear of the shop with a tiny grey and white bird. He held the bird as he attached a little scroll to one leg. Then held it up, opening both hands and letting it fly away. It circled overhead, making one full turn. Toby screeched again, and the tiny bird flew off.

The message had been sent.

《《《 ------  》》》

For now the story ends here...

There are many unanswered questions to which only time may eventually reply.

Acknowledgement:

I would like to thank Nick Brady for taking the time to read this and for pointing out a few errors.