“I lost everything. I was a monster before, but after falling so low, I became something worse. I was afraid I would be that way forever...then Sultan Atlasi found me and made me right.” - Mirza, Captain of the Red Guard

  ~*~

  It was Atlasi's birthday and the day started well. The City of Red Rock hummed with life straight from morning into night. Lanterns were lit, fires erupted and songs reverberated from merry clusters of people. Where there was no singing, there was story-telling. Of the storytellers, there was none better than the pillow merchant who gathered a crowd in front of the palace.

  Sellah had proved himself a worthy merchant of Red Rock, already making many friends with his kindness and wisdom. Now, many of these friends sat before him, listening to his tales of the Sultan’s exploits. His voice was warm and powerful - everyone felt welcome when they joined the crowd. It was a sight that Sellah admired more than the people who admired him; it was a proud moment to unite so many.

  The crowd cheered once he had finished a favorite story of the people, one where the Sultan showed mercy to a group of bandits after his victory at Red Rock, the bandits then becoming some of the first members of his Red Guard.

  “The Sultan is truly fearless!” one of the listeners announced among the crowd. Sellah could only laugh.

  “Fearless? The Sultan is filled with fear,” Sellah told them simply, to which many expressed their shock. The sheer thought of their icon being so human was enough to make almost every smile vanish. Sellah raised his hands to bring peace and continue with his reasoning. “The Sultan, like any good leader, fears for his people. These fears plague him. More people flock to him every day, to live under his protection, his guidance. Each one a blessing for his spirit, but a burden on his heart.”

  “How do you know what weighs on his heart?” a different man asked.

  “I know this because of my father,” Sellah replied in the direction of the voice. “My father, not a courageous warrior, but a simple merchant, had the honor of knowing the Sultan in his youth. The two shared the same small spring one day when both were weary from their travels and suffering a terrible thirst. The two exchanged stories and my father learned much about the Sultan. The Sultan is not a miracle and he does not create them. He is a man, like you or I, which makes him something far more special. My father explained this to me, as he felt more honor being in the presence of the man than the story of the man. You see the scars a lot better.”

  Sellah sighed at the thought of his father. A smile did not grow on his lips, nor did he frown.

  “My father was a good man, I only wish I knew him longer,” Sellah continued. “He could tell stories that enchanted all those who listened, but he rarely told any.”

  “And how do you know he did not lie?” the same man asked.

  Sellah looked in the direction of the man once more. There was no anger in him, but he was curious. The crowd parted to reveal the man who spoke, many jumping back in surprise - even Sellah’s eyes widened.

  Flanked by Mirza, and three of his loyal Red Guards was Sultan Atlasi.

  Many scrambled to bow, and many backed away or slipped into the crowd to avoid a confrontation. Sellah did not act so scared, but rather thrilled to see the Sultan in the flesh. Once more, his energy seemed to affect the crowd and enough stayed to watch.

  "Perhaps you can tell me," Sellah replied simply. "Did my father tell a lie?"

  There was no disrespect in his tone or manner, but Sellah did not bow or scrape. Even though at the back of his mind, a voice yelled at him to show reverence, it was a voice he would not listen to. He trusted in his instincts - he trusted his father.

  The Sultan stood tall, hair white and expression fierce. His Red Guard had their eyes scanning all around, but lingered on Sellah the most with their threatening gaze. Had it been anyone else in the crowd, they would break their gaze and show submission. Even in old age, this was a man not to trifle with.

  The Sultan walked towards Sellah, a warm smile grew and calmed even the weariest heart present.

  "No, Peyman did not lie," Atlasi said. The Sultan held out his hand and Sellah took it. The two did not shake hands as nobles would, but as world-weary men. “And I consider meeting his son to be one of the greatest gifts I received on my birthday. Welcome to Red Rock, Sellah.”

  ~*~

  Sellah was invited into the palace before the doors opened to the general public. His seat was secured, and comfortable and those who sat with him were pleased with their company. The Sultan returned to his palace to be with his family and properly prepare for the festivities while the courtyard slowly filled.

  The courtyard could not take everyone, so those who couldn’t enter simply joined a party somewhere else in the city. Once the large doors opened wide, all who entered were watched by the guard. No weapons were to be worn by those who entered, but the people made the guards' work easy.

  From the innocent-looking children to the most foreboding figures, none carried a blade. Athia and Bayek were prime examples of both sides.

  "You must admit…" Athia sighed, smelling the food that was so lavishly prepared and copiously provided. "...the Sultan is generous. Many of the people here are poor, their best clothing nothing compared to the rich amongst them."

  Bayek did not respond. His eyes had scanned the courtyard, searching for his target. Next, he glared up at the stairs leading into the palace. Instead of two guards in front of each archway, there now stood four. The guard was doubled. Bayek wondered if it was because of the celebrations or because someone expected something to happen.

  Athia elbowed him sharply. No matter how tall and imposing Bayek was, his grim aura was broken when the wind got knocked out of him at the surprise attack. Athia clutched his black robes and pulled him towards the food.

  "You are exactly the type they are looking for," Athia hissed. "Stare any longer at the guards or the palace with that look on your face and we won't get very far."

  "I should have struck-"

  "Hush, let's not speak of it anymore. Eat, if you can, and stay close. Our chance will come, just be patient."

  "Patience…years of practice brought me this far," Bayek thought as he cut another glance at the Red Guard. "A little more patience and it will all be worth it."

  Bayek’s attempt to regain focus was broken the moment Athia raised an arm holding a portion of the food. The meats that Bayek ate in the market were nothing in comparison. The smell alone brought out the glutton in him once again. Athia couldn’t help but chuckle as he took the plate from her hands with a spark in his eyes.

  There were tables, benches, and wide areas for all to sit and stand. Discussions were being made about the delectable food, the incredible clothing, the wondrous decorations, the music that drifted between it all, and of course, the Sultan.

  The stage had been built the day before, standing strong and well-guarded. The only way onto the stage was a small set of wooden stairs pointing towards the palace. Everyone knew that when the Sultan and his family joined the celebrations, they would walk down the center staircase in splendid attire, walk on the stage, and take their seats at their royal table.

  “Propped up above the people and protected from all sides,” Athia thought. “Even in times of peace, he is careful. Or perhaps, these are the precautions of his right hand man.”

  Until the time for speeches, the people settled with an empty stage and a few guards who couldn’t help but smile and chat with the guests around them.

  While Bayek and Athia blended in, a crowd was growing on one side of the courtyard. The combination of music and voices made it difficult to make out what the center of attention was. Bayek tapped a stranger at the back of the crowd on the shoulder and asked him with a half-full mouth what gathered so many people.

  “A storyteller! He tells such wonderful tales of the Sultan’s adventures and victories,” the man exclaimed, barely glancing at Bayek. Bayek shrugged and walked away, not interested in a storyteller spreading propaganda.

  Athia pondered this growing crowd for a moment, an idea forming quickly as she glanced around the courtyard. With so many distracted by the storyteller on the left side of the courtyard, few eyes were watching the right side. Few eyes to watch a dark garden and a path to the stairs.

  “Follow, now,” Athia said, tapping Bayek’s arm. “We’re done waiting, I see an opportunity.”

  The two drifted subtly against the grain as more people flocked to join the more vibrant crowds. Athia had a way of twisting amongst the crowd, lingering in all the right places so that anyone glancing in her direction would see nothing but a girl stopping at a table, conversing with a stranger, or simply staring at the stars above.

  Bayek had his own form of subtlety. He avoided people, keeping to the dark areas, blending in as best he could. It was much like watching a leopard stalking prey. By the time anyone would give him a second look he would have moved on, leaving doubt that there was ever a person there.

  Both their methods were enough. The gaze of the Red Guard didn’t linger on them, neither did their thoughts.

  Bayek and Athia had reached the end of the courtyard, creeping through the foliage of the garden, nearing the flight of stairs. Even as they got closer, neither could see a foothold or place to climb. As designed, the only easy way into the palace would be to climb the stairs, be seen by all, and be turned away by the Red Guard.

  Then Bayek stepped on a stray twig.

  The snap caught the attention of one of the guards. Athia was more than prepared, pulling Bayek flat against the stairs. The two were just out of sight, a Red Guard glancing at the bushes before he was distracted by the cheers and songs once again. With the guard’s eyes averted, Athia sighed softly.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The blacksmith Athia found did an excellent job of making what she had in mind. A set of three hooks that could be combined to make a three-sided claw. While apart, they were easy to hide amongst the folds of Athia’s sash and it was easy for Bayek to hide the rope in his.

  Bayek watched her adjust the hooks, forming the tri-pointed tool, then handed her the rope to attach to the instrument. It did little to impress him. Such tools were commonplace among explorers and fishermen - why not a thief as well?

  What did impress Bayek was Athia’s skill in throwing it. As she swung the hook upwards, he could only think of the sound it would make if she missed or threw it too high. Yet, she eyed the distance well, the hook just slipping over the edge and catching hold on the ledge behind the guards. Athia tested it and smiled at Bayek, only one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in reply.

  “The guards are close to the doorway,” Athia told him. “Be quiet and don’t wait for me. Get inside the palace and stay out of sight. When you climb, keep your hands strong and your feet sturdy. One slip, you will scrape your foot on the stone and you will be discovered.”

  Athia handed him the rope with less ease than she handed him advice. Bayek could climb, but his size and movements were based on strength, not skill. Should he even jostle the hook too much, the grating would be heard by the guards. If his movements were too fast, he would certainly catch someone's eye. It was all about delicacy.

  Bayek took the rope without a word and began to climb. His focus returned and all he could see was blood. Athia was surprised at how quickly he adapted, as he climbed with the grace and fluidity of a snake up a tree. By the time he slipped into the palace, he had completely forgotten about Athia.

  ~*~

  Athia slipped into the palace shortly after Bayek. Coiling the rope around her waist, she focused her ears on the sound of footsteps. When she couldn’t hear anything, she crept onwards. She wasn’t about to wait for the guards standing at the entrance to turn around and see her.

  Bayek was nowhere in sight. Not only did he slip in the palace, he had chosen a path and left her behind. Athia couldn’t help but feel abandoned, even if it was safer for the both of them to go their separate ways. She knew they would meet later, though hopefully not the way she expected them to meet.

  The palace was brilliantly carved on the inside. Only age tarnished the perfectly shaped curves and edgings. From the arches to the pillars to even the flagstones, everything was carved into the mountainside, with few additions. Athia expected blazing fires, torches, shining metalworks, and other decorative pieces; something fitting a Sultan with so much wealth at his disposal. Instead, she was greeted with a fortress-like atmosphere, where practicality was favored over appearance.

  The torches were simple and few, making the halls dim and uninspired. If not for the carvings, it might have looked like the inside of an average house in the city.

  “Still, the palace is large, the mountain larger. Who knows how many rooms and halls lie within?” Athia thought to herself.

  There were two archways before her and she chose the one that led away from the courtyard. With any luck, it would be the one that led to the Sultan’s room. With even more luck, the Sultan wouldn’t be there, but her prize would.

  ~*~

  “Karim, tighten your sash, don’t let it hang so pathetically,” Karim’s father hissed. “After all that training, I would have thought you learned some discipline.”

  Karim tightened the sash frantically on his Red Guard uniform. Karim’s father watched the entrance to the barracks, anxious that their troop leader, or worse, the captain of the Red Guard might enter.

  “Better?” Karim asked his father.

  “Better, now listen. We are fortunate to be left in an empty palace. No guests to watch over in the courtyard, no drunks to punish in the streets.”

  “But no food and wine,” Karim muttered. “Fortunate, but not so fortunate. It would be better if we could-”

  “Son, please! There will be time for that when we are relieved. I ask you to behave yourself, don’t put a foot wrong. Think of your mother.”

  The last words did the trick. The young guard’s mind drifted away from the celebrations and his expression became his father’s. The two sighed. Karim’s mother was kind, a delight to those who knew her, but she worried greatly for her husband and now her son since he joined the Red Guard. In her state, worry should be avoided. It gave her some comfort knowing the two would be in the palace during the celebrations.

  “Okay, let’s go,” the young man murmured. “From the East wing to the West and back three times. By then we should be relieved.”

  “If you don’t keep count, time will pass quickly.”

  “I will try.”

  The father smiled and then straightened. He placed his left hand on the round pommel of his scimitar and watched his son do the same. In silence, they marched out of the barracks and walked in separate directions. Karim turned left and entered a dark hallway, his mind once more drifting, making him unaware of his surroundings.

  Bayek, hidden in the shadows, watched Karim walk closer and closer.

  ~*~

  Athia, after slowly making her way through repetitive halls, found herself passing rooms filled with finery. Believing she was on the right path towards the Sultan’s royal quarters, her pace quickened. Even the golden trinkets that she saw glitter out of the corner of her eye did little to distract her.

  What Athia sought was greater than gold.

  “More valuable than every oasis in the desert.”

  These words repeated in her mind, but they did little to add to her excitement. Instead, she found herself hesitating with each step until at last, she came to a full stop. Athia thought about the journey ahead of her and the scope of its importance intimidated her, even at this moment. She wasn’t given long to linger, the repetitive stomps of a marching guard began to echo down through the halls, growing louder with each thump.

  Athia moved as fast as she dared. The soft patter of her feet was too weak to even echo. Two corners rounded later and Athia had not only escaped the approaching guard’s gaze, but she found the Sultan.

  Athia had entered an atrium. There were four levels, she stood on the second. The first level was covered in a jungle-like garden, watered by a small spring that trickled water from a natural rock formation beneath the Sultan’s balcony. Raising her gaze from the garden floor, she saw stars and cool moonlight washing down over the balcony.

  There, Sultan Atlasi stood, looking up at the night sky.

  Athia observed the Sultan behind one pillar, afraid her white robes would glow too brightly in the shadows. The Sultan, in her mind, was not the man she saw star-gazing. She envisioned a fierce warrior, strong, scarred, and with unforgiving eyes. Instead, the Sultan stood slender and tall, wrinkles weighing his eyes, making him look sad and ponderous.

  With such an aged face, he appeared tired. Yet, it was late in the night, perhaps he was.

  Above this face was his turban, as splendid as the robes he wore. Set at its center was a jewel, as large as her hand, perfectly cut and gleaming. The Sultan’s Jewel, an emerald unlike any other. Once worn by his father, but suited Atlasi better.

  The Sultan turned away from the balcony and out of sight. The warm glow beyond the ray of moonlight told Athia that it was his room or some sitting area for the royal family. She left her hiding place and crept around the atrium towards flights of stairs. She moved quickly, fearing that her luck with avoiding guards was running thin.

  Sure enough, as she climbed to the next floor, a Red Guard stepped into the atrium and stood next to the pillar she had hidden behind. The guard lingered only a moment before returning to his march. Once out of sight, Athia continued her climb.

  Her thoughts returned to the Sultan.

  “He is old, too old to keep up,” Athia thought to herself.

  She rounded the stairs and approached one side of the Sultan’s room. The doors were open.

  “He must be deaf, he won’t hear me enter,” Athia told herself, her heart beginning to pound.

  She stopped at the edge of the doorway, Athia could only see a sliver of the room. From a glance, she could tell it was a room fit for a Sultan, gold patterned hookahs, chairs adorned with fine pillows that looked oddly familiar, and even platters of decadent food atop small tables.

  “He is weakened by time...”

  She need only snatch his turban and flee. Athia breathed in and slipped inside, ready to steal and run until her heart burst. Instead, she slid to a stop. The Sultan there, his back to her, but his sword in hand. In a moment, he dropped his sword and soon fell with it. Bayek stood over Atlasi with a bloodied blade.

  “...too weak to fight.”

  ~*~

  Captain Mirza stood with the Sultan’s family after they made their way down to the stage. He was barely listening to Atlasi's wife’s speech. Shadya had a way with words, just like her husband, but Mirza took his duty seriously. He scanned the courtyard for troublemakers but found none. All guards stood by their posts, exactly where he assigned them. There was noise coming from the streets, but it mattered little on this occasion.

  Those who didn’t make it into the palace courtyard in time would wander off in search of another party. There were many, some as grand as the one held by the Sultan. Nobles were good for one thing and that was flaunting their wealth. They would go to great lengths to show their friends and especially their rivals what they were worth.

  Despite such security and familiarity with the procedure, Mirza couldn’t help but dwell on a sickening feeling.

  He soon realized his fingers were fidgeting around the handle of his sword, instead of resting comfortably on the pommel. He looked down at his hand and forced it to remain calm. When he did, he felt his arms sway and he stopped that as well. Next, his heart pounded.

  “Something isn’t…right,” Mirza thought.

  Without hesitating, Mirza decided to set his mind at ease. He left the stage and only Shadya saw him leave. She just saw the end of his black sash flow behind him from the corner of her eye.

  “Mirza…you stress yourself unnecessarily,” Shadya thought, then smiled. Her eyes now rested on her children, shy and humble in their seats. “We are so lucky to have you watch over us.”

  ~*~

  Bayek was breathing heavily. The Sultan had swung his sword expertly during their fight. Had he not been so determined to see the Sultan die before him, he might have misstepped or dodged too late and that would have been the end of him.

  But he didn’t. With the skill Bayek had, that one defensive swing from the Sultan, no matter who expertly delivered, left him wide open.

  Bayek stood over the fatally wounded Atlasi, who breathed so softly as he died. Athia said something, but Bayek couldn’t hear her over the pounding of his heart. She knelt beside the Sultan, and the old man's eyes immediately became concerned with her face, rather than the face of his killer. Athia spoke so quietly.

  “...me?” the Sultan asked.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I think your past caught up to you,” Athia told him. “A shadow of a misdeed.”

  The Sultan appeared unsurprised by these words. Like anyone, the Sultan had his share of regrets which often plagued his heart. Even a changed man cannot escape who they once were. If anything, Athia’s appearance surprised him the most.

  “I’ve seen your face once before…perhaps in a dream,” he wheezed. “She spoke to me. I know why you are here. Take it, I won’t stop you.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t think you can, even if you wanted to.”

  The Sultan smiled. Bayek could not believe what he was seeing, so he decided to leave the man to die. He approached the same balcony that the Sultan stood by earlier. Bayek had a torrent of thoughts to battle against and seeing his enemy smiling would only make it more difficult.

  He looked down at the atrium, but at nothing in particular.

  “The gods won’t ignore this act, young one,” the Sultan told her. His hand drifted above his chest, and Athia took it. “Be careful where you step from now on, death will follow you. Trust me, I know...especially now.”

  Once more, the Sultan smiled and Athia tried to smile with him. The life left his eyes so suddenly, his hand sliding off hers onto his chest. Athia stared at his face only a moment, before closing his eyes. She didn’t linger any longer, reaching for his sash and drawing a jeweled dagger. She then used it to cut the emerald from the Sultan’s turban.

  “Even now…not even a tear shed,” Athia thought. “There must be something wrong with me. Even Bayek shows more shock.”

  Bayek heard the sound of ripping cloth, watching Athia hide the jewel in her blue sash.

  “‘Far more valuable than revenge’,” Bayek said, repeating the words she told him before. “Only a thief would think a jewel is more valuable than justice.”

  Athia glanced up at him, her expression condescending. It almost angered Bayek.

  “Justice...do you really believe that?” Athia asked.

  Bayek swallowed his response, which only made him think about her question more. An ill feeling washed over Bayek as the thoughts returned and it concerned Athia. Wrath suited him better than regret. With one last look at the fallen Sultan, Athia gestured for Bayek to follow her.

  “I helped you finish your mission,” Athia said. “Between us and freedom is a maze of halls and an army...I need your help, Bayek.”

  Bayek didn’t need further persuasion. He was all too eager to leave the room behind him. He sheathed the sword which slew the Sultan and stood beside the thief who robbed his body.

  Somehow, it felt right.