The Fifth Scroll: Fahad's Plea

[Zaim al-Daleel]

Fresh from the desert, heavily laden in a mix of odors best left undescribed, you step from the busy street toward the arched entryway to the gardens surrounding the Golden Cutlass. A huge, impassive eunuch lowers a ham-sized hand in your path. While explaining you'd been extended an invitation from Fahad al-Zakir, a wealthy noble accompanied by several veiled woman where permitted to enter. They swept past in a wash of perfume and flowing robes of silk.

Tajar is the wealthiest city on the Golden Gulf. Rare spices, strange condiments, richly woven carpets, gleaming swords from Hiyal, wonders of the Crowded Sea--all are gathered in one location to assault and delight the senses. In this city, the Golden Cutlass stands as an inn suitable for nobles and the wealthiest of merchants and adventurers.

Upon learning your identity, a thousand pardons were begged upon bended knee. You were shown inside the walled compound but hastily escorted from the main cobbled path and led through the gardens to a large marble bathhouse. Heated from an unseen source, hot water flowed from ornate fountains into large baths. Servants disappeared with your garments and laid out simple but high quality robes for you while others scrubbed the desert from your weary pores. Pitchers of water, jugs of wine, and plates of dates and fish were provided as a precursor to the evening's dinner.

Following the dinner evening's conversations, you're shown to large luxurious rooms where you sleep on silken sheets, heads resting on fat pillows stuffed with duck down.
Ali enjoyed the food set before him. For the first time in weeks he was clean, comfortable, and well-fed. It reminded him of his early years, and how much he missed the comfort he once knew. But that was in the past, and he had to focus on the future.

Ali caught the attention of one of the serving girls and declared, “wine for my friend Fahd. As much as he wants.” Then he turned to Fahd and added, “your drink, as promised.”<br>
Fahd showed his appreciation for Ali's kindness by drinking a toast to him, then one to his some day to be met wife, one to his future children, one for good fortune of this future family, one for his home, another for his business, to his intelligence, for good weather on the morrow, for good weather the next week, fr god wertheer thome time sooooooooon . . . .

[Zaim al-Daleel]

As dawn broke over the city rooftops, those who were not already awake were roused by the sound of gongs in the minarets and the morning call to prayer. Those Al-Hadhar (city dwellers) who were very devout where already washed and at their mosque, but most would only bow their heads toward Huzuz in reflection upon one's chosen path and asking for guidance from their deity(s). Toward Huzuz, City of Delights, because there the first Grand Caliph received the vision of the Loregiver, which contained Fate's wisdom and the Law.

When you awoke you found your old clothes washed, folded, and tied with twine in a bundle. The robes, you were informed, are gifts from Fahad al-Zakir. Certainly nice gifts, but suitable only for settings such as this - they'd not withstand the rigors of working a caravan.

You were served breakfast, served cold in the traditional way, consisting of bread smeared with jam, curd cheese, olives, and dates. The coffee was dark and bitter, in a word, perfect.

As the sunlight strengthened it swept the shadows from the columned rooms of the inn and the beauty of the women who served you was revealed in a way that was not as apparent last night. Large brown eyes above transparent, gossamer veils, creamy skin untouched by the wind and sun; they were as pearls cupped in the oyster shell that was the Golden Cutlass.

After breakfast, it was announced that Fahad al-Zakir would be honored if you would meet with him. Outside, a dozen soldiers awaited. They were cordial but had little to say, answering most questions with a shrug and "That you must ask Fahad."

In a clearing north of the city, centered in a shallow valley surrounded by leafy palm trees, sat an immense white tent. Two soldiers armed with scimitars stood at attention on either side of the entrance. You were escorted inside by one of the soldiers from the inn.
As you entered a maiden dressed in a flowing violet caftan dabbed the sweat from your brows and offered you goblets of fresh water. Then you were lead across a rich carpet to the opposite side of the room and shown into a dark room filled with vases overflowing with wildflowers. There, an old man sat on a silk pillow. Thin arms protruded from the folds of his emerald green aba. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes glassy. He appeared troubled, not noticing you until the maiden cleared her throat.

"Ah, my guests," he said. "Please sit."

Two servants brought silver trays of bread slices and an assortment of jellies.

Once you were confortable, the old man introduced himself as Fahad al-Zakir. Fahad asked each of you your name, homeland, and occupation. He spoke in a soft voice, tinged with sorrow.

[Zaim al-Daleel]

"Khafaz has told me of your courage yesterday at Fayiz's tent. It is a mark of exceptional honor to risk one's life for a stranger."

"I have been looking for worthy men to undertake a dangerous mission," he said. He gazed through his guests and into the past. With a sadness born of decades of regret, he shares his tale with you.

As he finishes his story he sighs and his eyes refocus on you. "This month, I am 85 years old. I crave peace, but I am consumed with regret. May the gods forgive me. I have never stopped loving Sita. I want more than anything to see her again. Alas, my poor health prevents me from travelling."

He sipped from his goblet of water. "Will you cross the High Desert to Vahtov, seek out Sita, and implore her to accompany you back to Tajar? I am a serious man," he said, his face for a moment hardening into a shadow of his younger self. "I do not make requests frivolously- you need but name your price."

He explained that for secrecy sake, you would travel as a trade caravan, delivering camels to a military camp. He would furnish camels and supplies as well as men to assist with the caravan.

"Before you accept, have you any questions?"

Fahd was not himself this morning, or was he more of himself than usual? His head felt heavy as if it were filled by the sands of the desert, and his mouth felt as dry as those sands left out in the sun. He moved at a snail’s pace, if only the snail were already dead.

He sat in Fahad’s tent listlessly, for a journey across the desert in his current condition did not seem all that appealing. Skiz, on the other paw, was active, nibbling at Fahd’s arms from within the folds of his robes, his new beautiful robes the gleam of which hurt Fahd’s eyes.
He took some of the bread and jam and offered it to the rat in the hopes it would appease him.

“You say,” he spoke, his ears hurting at the sound of his own voice. In a lower voice he continued, “You say you will outfit us and we shall travel as a trade caravan. I am curious, if this is a mission of lost love, why do we need to carry it out under the veil of secrecy. What is it you know about this Sita’s current situation that we do not?”

Fahad al-Zakir's face took on a pained look. "Many would consider my involvement to be an insult to the memory of my parents. At my age, the opinions of others do not concern me. But my children would suffer in their dealings with the other great families of Tajar. I do not wish to burden them in this way." He swept his hand before him, saying, "That is why I have taken residence here, outside the city."

[Zaim al-Daleel]

Ya'qub bows his head very deeply toward Fahad. "Please correct your worthless servant if I am wrong, but you are asking for us assist you and to be very discrete in doing so?"

"Discrete insomuch that you do not discuss your intention to seek out Sita while you are in Tajar. These are affairs of the heart, not some business transaction, the merits of which to be discussed in the coffee houses!" Fahad snorted derisively, jabbing a bony finger in the direction of Tajar. "As a merchant you would know that any weakness, any hint of scandal can be used to a competitors advantage. My son's should not suffer because I choose to..." his sighed. "Choose to plead forgiveness of one who was wronged."

"Old foolish Fahad they'd say," he said in a mocking voice, "chasing after the traitorous Sita. Surely he's spent to much time in the sun.

"I convinced myself that I was respecting my parents; could a faithful son do any less? I stood by while they falsely accused her of disloyalty to the sultan and banished her from Tajar." His chin fell to his chest.
Ali nodded as Fahad spoke. Then, as his companions asked questions he quietly sipped his coffee. Finally he spoke up. “I am certain that I will have many questions before departing, honored sir. But as for whether I will accept, there is no question. If our companions are willing, Yakhil and I will be most pleased to assist you in obtaining what you desire.” He paused for another sip. “As for price, your honor and reputation are known in Tajar and beyond. I do not doubt that we can easily agree upon a fair reward.”

"I made some inquiries yesterday," Fahad said offhandedly. "Ashquar bin Fahesh was pleased with your handling of his caravan to Jamal Oasis. Not one camel lost, despite the sandstorm. Most importantly, his son Barakeh says you are honorable men." Fahad gestured to the guard beside him who leaned down. After a few instructions in a low voice, the guard left the room, returning shortly with several sheets of parchment. "I will give a letter of credit guarantee to any of you who wish it in exchange for one third of your profits," he said. "Just present it to any of Tajar's reputable money lenders. I will trust your judgement in your choices of trade goods."

"I have six war camels I want delivered to the House Fajirik camp, west of Jamal Oasis. Three of my men will assist you, and I will provide you each the use of two strong camels and supplies for the journey."

Ya'qub's mind raced with the calculations. One-third? He could conceivably help his poor widowed mother live a life of comfortable retirement if Fate smiled upon him in this endeavor.

Beginning with the two bolts of fine silk, Ya'qub silently considered what goods might fetch the best prices in trade. Again nodding respectfully toward Fahad, he said firmly, "For my part, at least, we are agreed."

[Zaim al-Daleel]

Lum really did not wish to return to his former duties so soon, the idea of more adventure was appealing, but he would have to send word of his continued sabbatical.

"Amin and I will help as best as we can with our swords and skill."

Making obeisance to their host, Ya'qub begs for a few moments with his comrades.

"Fahd, please correct me if my information is less than correct: We will need food and water for ourselves and the camels for a journey of at least two weeks.

Fahd spoke up. "Your assessment of the situation seems accurate. We will have the pleasure of an extended desert journey."

"In addition, there are two opposing houses along the way. It might be best if we could take some items that would appease either.

"Lum and Fahd, if you please, order the supplies and equipment. We will need tack for the camels, as well as dates to share with the beasts to help them be, ah, cooperative.

Fahd volunteered his expert services in getting enough supplies for the journey, at the expense of their employer, of course.

"I'd like to take Ali and search for trade goods that might prove successful in our venture."

“It would be my pleasure to assist in that duty,” Ali replied. “For although Fahad’s reward may be great, we would best for us to take account of the possibility that the lady in question will decline Fahad’s generous invitation.”