Брайан Ламли - Khai of Khem

But the four years had taken a terrible toll of Harsin Ben Ibizin. He had aged far more rapidly than advancing years might readily account for, and his hair and eyebrows were now white as fine bleached linens. More and more he had come to lean on his apprentice, Imthod Haphenid, depending upon him for the handling of all architectural tasks with the sole exception of the great pyramid itself, and not once had Imthod let him down. No, for the apprentice had become a master in his own right, and of all other architects in Asorbes, only Harsin Ben could now deem himself Imthod’s peer.

And it was just as well that Imthod had been available to handle his master’s lesser affairs (which after all provided the Ibizin family’s daily bread), for in the last twelvemonth Harsin Ben had grown more and more vague and abstracted as the terror which hovered over his household threatened to descend and stifle all. Now, as the days narrowed down, the old architect was more distraught and concerned than ever. His concern had to do with a summons, the Royal Command, which Khasathut invariably issued to the families of his future brides advising them that their daughters were to take part in his parade of prospective chosen ones. That command had not yet arrived, nor yet any word of Khai’s future as foretold four years earlier, so that Harsin Ben was at a loss to know which way to turn.

It was as if the Pharaoh had altogether forgotten those words he had spoken on that fateful day of the Royal Procession four years ago, or as if they had been merely a whim to be uttered and then put aside; but Harsin Ben could put little trust in that. And yet… perhaps there was hope after all. There had been fifteen Royal Processions since that time, and Pharaoh’s Grand Architect had been present at every one of them. On several occasions, Khai or Namisha had been absent—ostensibly as a result of “illnesses,” or of holidays taken out of the city at the homes of friends in Béna or Ohath; but in fact as a rather unsubtle subterfuge to keep them out of sight and hopefully out of mind—and while on these occasions Harsin Ben had been apprehensive, not once had Pharaoh or his aides commented upon the absence of the young Ibizins.

On the tenth day before this sixteenth Royal Procession was to take place, Harsin Ben had asked his eldest son Adhan for his opinion. Adhan had grown into a fine man now and had a wise head on his shoulders. Perhaps he might have something constructive to say on the matters currently worrying his father. On this occasion, however, Harsin Ben found his son reticent and evasive. When he asked what was wrong, Adhan had advised that he should speak to Imthod Haphenid. Perhaps he could learn something from his apprentice, Adhan said, for he had heard it rumored that Imthod was spending a lot of his spare time in the city’s taverns with several of Pharaoh’s spies. One of the latter was well known as a scout for the Pharaoh, seeking out especially lovely girls for the quarterly ceremony of bride-choosing. Perhaps Imthod would know for certain whether or not Namisha was to be one of the twenty prospective brides….

Two days later, when Harsin Ben was unable to bear the suspense a moment longer, he called Imthod Haphenid into his study and broached the subject in as direct a fashion as he could find, speaking first of the apprentice’s friendship with certain employees and confidants of the Pharaoh.

“It’s true enough, master, that I’ve formed friendships within a certain group of men whose duties are deemed rather odd,” Imthod told him, grown suddenly a little more pallid than usual. “But since they carry out those duties on the orders and on behalf of Pharaoh himself, and since—”

“Hold, Imthod,” his master cautioned him, holding up a hand. “I don’t mean to cross-examine you. You must surely know that? No, it’s just that I’m worried about the Royal Procession. There’s only a week left. You know of course that four years ago Namisha was chosen by Pharaoh for a place in his bridal parade—the next Parade, in just a week’s time? Well, since you have friends among Khasathut’s spies—I mean, among those men he employs to … to—”

“I know your meaning, master,” Imthod answered, saving Harsin Ben from further embarrassment. “The only thing that puzzles me is how you came to discover that I was working for you in this way.”

“Working for me?” the old architect frowned. “I don’t—”

“You see,” Imthod quickly continued, “I had hoped that perhaps my friendship with these men might go unobserved, for my plan was a shaky one at best. Obviously, I’ve not been as subtle as I tried to be, for if you have suspected me, then what of them whose innermost secrets I’ve sought to discover?”

“What?” Harsin Ben gasped, failing to grasp the other’s meaning. “Can’t you be more plain, Imthod?”

“Master, do you think I’ve not known your dismay that your family must be taken from you? Khai and Namisha taken into the pyramid, never to return to you? I’ve suspected it must be so for a long time, which was why I cultivated such strange friendships with men whose natures are so far from my own. And master—” he lowered his voice, became confidential, “I believe that at long last I have news for you—good news!”

“News? Speak up, man!” the old man hoarsely commanded. “What have you learned?”

“Ah, be patient, Harsin Ben,” Imthod answered, calling his master by name for the first time. “First I had to mingle with these men and gain their confidence, and when finally I learned that Namisha was most certainly to be one of the twenty—that indeed she might well be chosen as one of Pharaoh’s three new brides—then I took my very life in my hands and laughed at my informants!”

“You did what?” Harsin Ben was amazed. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I laughed that Khasathut’s advisers could be so reckless of their own positions as to allow Pharaoh to take so dull and dowdy a bride!”

“You did wh—” the old man could not believe his ears. “How dare—” “Harsin Ben—master!—pray, hear me out. Do you not see my plan? For I had sown seeds of doubt in their minds, and now at last it appears that those seeds have taken root!”

“How do you mean? In what way?”

“Why, don’t you see? Namisha is no longer a candidate for Pharaoh’s bed. She has been struck from the list of twenty names. She will not be called upon to parade for Khasathut’s choosing!”

“You have done this thing, Imthod?” Harsin Ben’s astonishment was gradually giving way to joy. “But why did you not—”

“You have not heard all, Harsin Ben,” his apprentice quickly cut him off. “About Khai—”

“Khai?” the old man was immediately apprehensive. “What of him?” “He is not to go to the pyramid after all,” Imthod smiled. “No, for he is to be an archer in Pharaoh’s army.”

Harsin Ben slowly shook his head in astonishment, in disbelief. “And is this, too, your doing, Imthod? It… it’s like a dream! How could you possibly have worked this wonder?”

“I am only partly responsible,” the apprentice replied. “Khai’s amazing skill with bow and arrows has been his true salvation. I had only to speak my opinion in the right ear: that a lad with Khai’s talent would be wasted as a lap dog in the pyramid. The rest seemed to come almost naturally.”

“And yet you’ve made no mention of these things before,” the old man frowned. “Why is that, Imthod Haphenid? Have I been such a tyrant that you could not confide in me?”

For a moment the apprentice seemed lost for words, but then he found his tongue. “No, no, Harsin Ben, not at all—but what if all my work had come to nothing in the end? What then? Should I raise up your hopes simply to dash them down again?”