Private Tales Slim Pickings

[Rasoul Ibn Shahin]

The setting Selucan sun made for a sumptuous sight but the Sultan saw it not. His days, and nights, were completely dedicated to pouring over various reports. When he was not staining his hands with ink, Rasoul was holding audiences. Some that were very important, others that were simply a farce. He knew the game well but that did not make him immune to frustration. Annuk had seen fit to bring a few talented individuals to his side. It was mostly due to their efforts that the city had not collapsed on itself. Rasoul knew that if he fell here, the city would succumb to a continued cycle of violence. One of their neighbors would no doubt take the chance to annex the city.

Rasoul was determined to see that Seluca did not experience such a fate. This meant resorting to measure that were considering unsavory. He had shaken hands with those who had stripped his city. Exiled those whom we would have otherwise considered his brothers and sisters. All for the sake of protecting Seluca and its people. A heavy burden but one that Rasoul had readily accepted.

There was one last audience this evening and then the sultan would allow himself some rest. This particular meeting however was likely to prove rather interesting. Rasoul had only been given vague details as to the person he was about meet. They had been serving Seluca's interests since Rasoul's ascension but the sultan had yet to actually speak to them.

A knock outside his door.

"Our meeting is long overdue," the sultan stated as the other entered the room. Rasoul made no apologies. Those could come after he was dead.

Zaki Qasim

 

[Zaki Qasim]

Zaki made his entrance and looked for a moment around the room as if memorising it. It was the first time he had set foot in the heart of command. He gave a long luxurious pull of his wiry beard, which had been worn by the weather. No oils touched it even if he was allowed such maintenance by his wealth. It was as if he wanted a reminder of the desert's harsh toils about his face for all to see. He bowed deeply, and returned to his height.

His eyes were stern, yet his voice was cool as the waters he so often denied his targets.

“Esteemed and Great Sultan,” Zaki began, “It is not for I to make the rains fall, or to make the sun set, nor is it for one such as myself to demand the time of men great of command such as yourself than is needed. We have not met yet for it was not necessary then. The more time spent on your duties the better soothed my ego, the better I am placated. But times are changing, and so too, must the men one must associate themselves with. I hear you are deeply concerned with your people, with the responsibility of office. Of keeping that which you have earned by right, by providence. I am here to be of service to you without direction or official word, to sully my eyes with the disgraced and downtrodden, so that they may not offend your senses nor sully your reputation, yet ply these lesser into useful tools. A great many avenues of capacity are at my behest, and they all serve you before themselves. I see that such is so. I am not a great man such as yourself. I am but a servant, one who attends those who would do you wrong with the swiftness of evaporating water in the heat of day. I thank you for speaking to me. It is good to set my eyes upon the foundation of what I know and defend with all my heart. If all goes with grace, we shall not meet again, unless you wish to hear of the underbelly of the beast you wish to tame, oh great Sultan newly found to glory. If you have questions, I may have answers, if you have problems, I may find solutions, solutions that might not be well received by more sensitive, less pragmatic, ears.”

Rasoul Ibn Shahin

 

[Rasoul Ibn Shahin]

Rasoul watched as the older man entered his study and bowed deeply. It was rare to see such deference given from someone of his guest's age. Respect towards one's elders had always been a core tenet of Rasoul's culture. How many elders did the sultan have to contend with when he came into his position. They had been so keen to support him when he was ousting the tyrant. Now, now they treated him like a child who did not know better.

Yet, here was a man who had so wholly given himself to Seluca. Rasoul could not help but feel a sense of shame in front of this man's devotion. The Six had certainly blessed him with a loyal subordinate. "I shall begin by saying that your efforts are greatly appreciated," the sultan stated calmly. He noted that the man had not given his name and knew that was by design. Rasoul could always respect those who understood their own value.

The sultan let himself lean back in his seat.

"I do not wish this to be our only meeting but your caution is not lost on me. Those I trust have vouched for you. I did not call you here to verify your loyalty, that time has since passed," Rasoul explained coolly. "No, this is a matter of necessity. My viziers are busy dealing with their own tasks, our current state does not allow for the current separation you envision."

He brought a hand up to his forehead, tiredness clearing showing. "Your methods seemed to have borne much fruit for those outside of our city. My needs currently are far more...local."

Zaki Qasim

 

[Zaki Qasim]

Zaki made small approach into the throne room, his footsteps made as if the sensation of cool mosiac and such royal firmaments were foreign to him, as if was ready to shift his weight to the shifting sands at any given point to prevent becoming victim to the desert's sudden whims. He gathered his clothes around him as if he did not wish to sully the ground any further than he did already, as if he did the place a disrespect if he gave even the faintest trace of his visitation. Perhaps, Zaki thought, the Gods might punish them both for speaking in such directly ready terms of collaboration. But such were the risks of existing within the domains they both found themselves in.

One a sultan, with countless subjects, countless concerns, countless duties, and countless enemies real and imagined. The other with endless sands to bid water from singular threats, and such as shifting as the winds that bid those dunes to roll and reshape, so did he react to the whims of greater things than himself.

“The Sultan may command me however he sees fit, from a distance he may afford himself security from association, yet from such closeness, he may incise the malcontent with affirmative, attentive hand. Your approach is direct, so I return in saying with such directness. Speak your need and let the mouths of those who besmirch you become dry and useless, or perhaps, more talkative, should you wish a confession of your suspicions. Speak your aim, and I shall set my course to that direction, no matter how black the deed, no matter how impossible it may seem to but one humble dweller of the wild sands. The eyes of the vulture see much, and cast a shadow over many before an end is promised to the unworthy of life,” Zaki said and bowed once again, for he hinted as to his affiliation with sly words of his organisation.

Rasoul Ibn Shahin

 

[Rasoul Ibn Shahin]

The sultan's gaze darkened for a moment at the other man's words. It was not the temerity of his tone but the ease in which they were spoken. So readily did he offer awful fates to those of Rasoul's enemies. The sultan begrudged the man the temptation that was offered. Rasoul didn't necessarily consider himself a compassionate man but he knew the value of mercy. More importantly, he didn't desire to spill blood unless necessary. The sands were deeply soaked already and would continue to be without his intervention. He had no want to contribute to the desert's insatiable thirst.

Even the most magnanimous of rulers still had to make sacrifices.

"As I've stated, my current complication is of the closest proximity," the sultan reiterated. Personal, in truth even if he did not say it. There was a certain pain that he wished to avoid by actually speaking the treachery. He had already done so with one before and that had been enough. Rasoul had been unflappable during much of the tyrant's reign but this was different.

"I need no confessions, evidence enough has been provided. No, what I need is a message. An unfortunate, but necessary message. A servant of Seluca should see a subtler end but I cannot afford that," he explained almost as if the words had to be pried from his lips. Neutrality was important in these matters but the sultan had known the chamberlain since Rasoul was a child.

"Can I entrust this matter to you?" He had left out a number of details, curious to see just how much this vulture king already knew.

Zaki Qasim

 

[Zaki Qasim]

A message could be delivered by the corpses left in the wake of men with something to communicate. Something about the new power that worked within the city. The Sultan would be respected and obeyed. Such was Zaki's intent. Such was the message delivered by any subtle reshuffling of the deck of fate. And the ending of a life was a merely subtle adjustment to the grand scale of deeds to those in Zaki's command. But more bold was the secret that Zaki was soon to extend in solidarity, in gifted form, to one who might earn such a right.

Zaki stood in the light when he expected to remain in the darkness. Perhaps a bold approach would be required to take full advantage of this audience for Zaki's own gain. But too again, was the need to hear with authority. If one was to deliver a message, one would have to write such notes of death to begin with with an open mind and well authored to it's cause. Such were the checks and balances which Zaki offered as a service, for now, for the Sultan's own benefit.

“Messages can be delivered in whatever form the Sultan chooses, permanent and irrefutable. But if it is a finality you require, and further power to this affect, I must ask a thing. An exchange, for I have a gift for one who would have such things rendered. To such messages. Speak to me the names of the lights you do wish snuffed out to preserve discipline, so I do not commit a deed and live to face the wrath of an assumption made. And, so that we have an understanding in deed. Names are powerful, and so too is the voice that utters will and verbage. Do this and I shall show you a technique that my Sultan may command, as if bid by wish of the desert, instead of a djinn's loaned power. We shall be bonded in direct correlation to cause and deed to the message rendered. Such is my people's way to offer you the gift that I can only bestow with such a bond. I shall show you the desert's network first hand, if, you but speak the names. Your voice to this most direct deed shall secure you passage to where I, and those who cast the vulture's shadow, may roam and help you in your purpose to the most of ourselves. It shall protect you. It shall serve you. Should you not fear that which thirsts.”

The technique that Zaki spoke of was the manner in which Desert Vultures communicated over vast distances of sand. To rearrange the sands, no manner if a simple pool or scattering upon a floor, to communicate with agents distant and mysterious. A shimmer was being offered here, so that the Sultan may only write such a name into the sands, and they would be driven out by those conspiring sands.

Rasoul Ibn Shahin

 

[Rasoul Ibn Shahin]

Rasoul's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the mention of a djinn. The other man was clearly not waxing poetic in this particular instance. There were indeed rumors about the fantastical nature of the Sultan's current spymaster. Granted, most did not actually entertain the possibility. Rasoul doubted Zafir's identity would remain secret for much longer but the mystique had proven useful. Just as it was now. There was no hesitation in the older man's assertions. Thus did he prove himself capable.

This purveyor of information played a dangerous game, however. To so explicitly request the name of his target was to invite the Sultan's complicity. There was obvious logic to the appeal and yet something more. A moment that would inextricably link the two parties together. One single name would decide the course of their partnership, for it could be called nothing else. Such was the value of the person with whom the Sultan currently dealt. Actions, it is said, often spoke louder than words; it would not be so today.

"Basri," he said softly, just loud enough to be heard. "My chamberlain." Tone, firmer now.

A name was provided but the burden remained.

Zaki Qasim

 

[Zaki Qasim]

Zaki closed his eyes as if preparing himself for what was to come and drew in a powerful shuddering breath, his shoulders rising in staggered surges. He reached towards his belt with great ceremony, his fingers curling individually around a small pouch of velvet that was affixed to his person, and held it within his left palm. The man born of the desert and firmly loyal to the whims of the vulture grew close to the Sultan with a gait that was akin to a funeral procession, pouch raised towards the heavens. He began to speak with a low voice that seemed parched, yet rumbled on without being robbed for it's dryness, a raspy sound that made one wish to soothe their own throat with cool liquids at the sound.

“Sands who hear this name, and all names after, shifting for royal voice that is bound for greatness, may all sands of this land receive this Sultan's words without ever having giving rise to sound again. May they be a conduit by my loyalty. The winds carry sound but the motes that lay upon the ground be truer, surer, safer, quicker than thought. From this moment forth, may royal etchings upon the sand call upon this deed first uttered here, now, and all future commands. No longer needed to be uttered, let the dunes wherever you so collect their trace carry your message to me, so is it done by etching the words upon the sands. So it was spoken by another, shall I write, and in future shall another write, shall I speak and end. We are hereby bound.”

The velvet pouch opened of it's own accord, bid by the words and will. It began to rise in a thin tendril that spiralled upwards at first, gathering, gathering, and then began to snake it's way to the floor in front of Zaki. It collected in a small square. Zaki stared at it and breathed a few times, collecting himself as he bore the toll that such a ritual brought. A terrible thirst, a parching of the skin, a glazing of the eyes to spheres of white. But onwards did the man continue in completing the deed.

He extended a finger and hunched over, his back and knees cracking as it did so, towards the sand. His gnarled digit scribed the name into the collected sand, etching it upon the surface.

Basri

At first, nothing happened. Zaki's eyes remained as pearls.

He tightened his hands into a fist as he fought with the spirits of the sand that bargained for, spirits that few knew of, yet still the thirsting relied. Hungry things. Dreadful things.

The words began to glow blood red in faint illumination, before dying as embers within a fire might.

The delicate ceremony was finished with a wild kicking of the sand. The sand dissipated into nothingness as it landed away from the Sultan, sinking into the ether of magic that was bid. Zaki's eyes returned to humanity.

Zaki remained silent as his trembling hand reached for a small vial that too was upon his belt. A vial of honey, that he drew into his mouth as it slowly crawled from the liquid. He smacked his lips and began to speak again, his voice soothed and enabled again for his application.

“Simply draw sand to you, and then etch the name in future, and such a deed of death shall be done without another word passing between us. It shall reach me and my attendants. Once the words glow and fade, kick them to the winds, and all trace of your deed shall fade, yet the soul shall be doomed. We are bound. Etch with a certain mind, and certain ends shall meet.”

Rasoul Ibn Shahin

 

[Rasoul Ibn Shahin]

The Sultan could not deny a momentary fear as the Vulture King stepped forward. There was an otherworldly air about the old man, the sort which Rasoul would never truly be able to comprehend. A fundamental difference between the two that currently stood in the room. The Sultan's guards were not nearly close enough should he have called for them. He wondered whether they would have even been effective enough to deal with his guest. A thought for the future. Yet, Rasoul had come this far by trusting his judgement in others. He oft believed it was his greatest strength. The next few moments might prove him wrong however.

In the end, there was no need for worry. The Sultan watched the ceremony with muted wonder. He thought himself immune to such displays after witnessing the whimsies of his current spymaster. Rasoul had no talent in magiks but even he could sense the moment of the ritual. More than once he felt compelled to go help the older man. Pale did his visage become, frail did his body seem.

Eventually the ritual came to an end and Zaki spoke. Rasoul almost missed the man's initial words, so drawn had he been to the ceremony. The Sultan once again wondered who exactly he had made a pact with. Many would have found the vulture king's explanation to be a welcome one. Rasoul internally balked at the ease in which so many of his problems could be solved.

Silence hung between the two. Rasoul weighed his next words but curiosity simply got the better of him. "...And if that name was to be yours?"

Zaki Qasim