David Wise - Tales of Ravenloft

The celebration was electrified by the news, and the sheikh's brothers soon began arguing among themselves as how to split this as-yet-ungained treasure. The sheikh's eye lit with greed as well, but he summoned abd-al-Mamat. The vizier stamped his way to the sheikh's flank near the head of the feast.

The sheikh said," A weakened party of merchants from Malbus is in our lands, oh vizier — wounded, weakened, and bloodied. What say you to this?"

Abd-al-Mamat scowled at the thought of the ramheaded abomination's wrath and of what the sheikh said, and he asked no further questions. Instead, he nodded and said," Go to them. The rewards will be great."

The vizier's fellow tribesmen gave a hearty shout, and as one, they tore from the pavilion to mount up and pursue the merchants. A large mob of them, touched by wine and dreaming of great treasure, set off at once, the sheikh and his brothers at the head of the van.

Abd-al-Mamat, standing among the remains of the revelry, watched with a puzzled look on his face as they departed. He watched the sheikh's party until they were mere dots on the horizon, and he shook his head. One of the sheikh's other servants stepped forward and asked why he looked so troubled.

Abd-al-Mamat said," It is strange that there would be so much excitement for a simple mission to rescue some merchants'caravan."

The servant looked at abd-al-Mamat agog, and said," They do not intend to rescue them, but to rob them. That was what the sheikh was asking."

Abd-al-Mamat's eyes widened, and he said in an icecold voice," That is not what he asked. . I have sent our master into great peril! We must send a rider at once to stop them."

A rider was sent, but arrived too late to save the sheikh. He and his brothers and the flower of the tribe's warriors swept down upon the caravan, and the merchants in fear called upon the protection of their fiendish master. Malbus answered their call, for a tower of flame erupted from the desert floor. Of the fifty warriors who attacked, only the rider lived to tell the tale, and he only because he fled before the fire.

At the rider's return, there was a great lamentation among the tribesmen, and none cried louder than abdal-Mamat. He publicly cursed himself for a fool for misunderstanding his master's words, and tore his garments in his grief. And yet still, surprisingly, he kept his wits about him and demanded everyone work at once to tear down the camp and abandon that which could not be carried easily. For, he said in a grim voice, the minions of the Burning Citadel might choose to slay not only those who attacked, but those who shared the blood of those who attacked.

And abd-al-Mamat's words were proved correct, for the minions of Malbus did pursue them. For seven nights and a night they traveled hard and fast, across the most desolate of the wastes, with the minions in pursuit. And those who faltered or who were left behind were slain by these minions, and their screams carried on the desert winds to drive the survivors onward. And throughout their flight abd-al-Mamat chose the correct and safest path. And if he felt anger or rage or any other emotion about the death of his foolish master, he did not show it.

When at last they reached safety and ascertained that the hellish minions of Malbus had abandoned their chase, the people gathered together to determine their own fate. The best warriors and leaders were dead, save for the sheikh's youngest son, who was not yet of his majority. Faced with such a blow to their very heart, many other tribes would merely have ceased to be, their families and clans wandering apart.

Some of the tribe felt they should disband and wander apart. Then abd-al-Mamat stepped forward, and, tears in his eyes, declared his failure, for his advice had cost them their sheikh and their bravest warriors.

And the people replied that he was not to blame for their sheikh's folly, and it was only through his wisdom that they did not all perish. Abd-al-Mamat bent his head in thanks, then, and swore to keep the tribe together, and to serve as regent until the young sheikh came to his majority, then step aside. And the people acclaimed that decision as the correct and just one.

And the decision was correct and just, for the tribe prospered. Abd-al-Mamat arranged the marriages of several beauties to the sons of other sheikhs, and strengthened alliances and trade. He mollified the agents of the Burning Citadel, such that the minions of Malbus no longer hunted them. And at last the tribe settled at the foot of the last spur of the Lost Mountains. The tribe so profited from abd-al-Mamat's decisions that few, young or old, pursued any course of import in love or war or money without the counsel of abd-al-Mamat, vizier and teacher to the next sheikh.

And abd-al-Mamat could be seen trying to impart his wisdom on the young sheikh, a task that met with mixed results. The young sheikh was the image of his father in many ways, including an impulsive nature and love for rich finery, great feasts, and the attention of young women. The young sheikh also carried within him a savage temper, and on more than one occasion argued with his regent, winning his point only by reminding abd-al-Mamat of his place: the vizier was the son of a slave, and the youth the son of a sheikh. Abd-al-Mamat nodded in agreement and showed no ire, but instead served the young master as he had his old. The people flourished, and the youth depended on his regent to maintain and enforce the harsh laws of their people.

And it was at this time that abd-al-Mamat began to fully study all the old legends, both for the wisdom of their laws and the powerful magics that they described. And he received emissaries from Malbus, and some said from the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods. Servants and slaves were sent to the far corners of the land, to return with musty tomes and ancient legends. Some did not return at all, and some returned silent, with their eyes purged from their skulls. Some said that this was a clear sign that the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods had been involved. Those who said this said it very quietly.

And so it was: abd-al-Mamat sought further wisdom and tried to impart it on the young sheikh until only a few weeks before the young sheikh's majority.

At that time, the encampment was awakened by shouts and screams, though no one remembered afterward who sounded the alarm first. The daughter of an esteemed and wealthy elder of the tribe was missing from her tent, and could not be found anywhere in camp. The vizier was roused and organized a search, and in the search several noted that the young sheikh was not present.

They found the young sheikh, and what remained of the girl, in the young sheikh's quarters, and even abd-alMamat was struck pale by what he saw within those cloth walls.

The young sheikh was brought before abd-al-Mamat and said he knew nothing of what had occurred, though his robes and hands and face were smeared with her blood. He talked of being drunk on wine, of not remembering returning to his tent. He then gathered himself and proclaimed his innocence in a loud and proud voice. He claimed foul sorcery was responsible for this crime, and it should be remembered that he was the son of the sheikh.

Abd-al-Mamat heard the case, as he heard all such cases, and said nothing at first, his face solemn and pale, as if turned to gray stone. Then he rose and said he must consult, for as all know, a hasty decision is invariably wrong. And the people agreed and held the youth, waiting for the judgment of abd-al-Mamat.

The vizier spent seven nights and a night searching through his dusty tomes of legend and law and the ancient books brought to him by his blinded servants. He spoke with all who knew the young sheikh and the dead girl, talked to elders of other tribes, communed with the portents, publicly called on Fate to guide him. In the end, however, he returned to the sheikh's pavilion, his face wet with tears. There could be no doubt, he said. Abd-al-Mamat had to find the youth guilty of his horrid crime.