Lords of the East - Library

[Quirl]

Umarah read the pamphlet that had been being passed around throughout all the tribes in the land--calling for all willing mercenaries to join the Qara-Suu--calling for them to become ghul. His eyes scanned the paper thoughtfully, his hands stroking his beard and the nearby candlelight illuminating the thin oils on his face. Behind him, his captain Wadi sat picking his nails with a knife. Wadi wore a smile and hope on his lips. But Umarah was cautious. It was in his nature to assume the worst--this pamphlet was no different.

"Umarah, sadiq," Wadi finally spoke up, laying the knife aside and grinning. "What is the matter? This is a great opportunity for us. Finally we can pick ourselves up from the sands. Finally we can make something of ourselves. Finally we can bring our little band of warriors and raise them into something..." his smiled broadened. "Wealthy."

"Do not be so eager, Wadi," Umarah cautioned, not bothering to turn around--his eyes still on the pamphlet in his hands and the dim candle still dancing shadows on his face. "The ghul are not mere mercenaries to sign on with..."

"How so?" Wadi stood up, making his way slowly towards his commander. "Is it because they destroyed that pretender Caliph? The Caliphate died when the Seljuks invaded Baghdad. Now a Western King sits on the throne. The world is changing." He knelt over and placed his hands on the back of Umarah's chair. He spoke almost into his friend's ear, "We need to start thinking about the future."

"And just what is the future, Wadi?" Umarah asked.

"The ghul are the future." Wadi threw his hands off his commander's chair and started to walk away, seemingly disgusted. Suddenly, he turned around and began to pace around the dark tent, his eyes on Umarah and a passion growing in his voice. "Nothing makes sense anymore, Umarah. We can't rely on old traditions and faith anymore." He shook his head. "Our band is being pushed to the edge. How long do you think we can last? How long do you think we can go on like this? Soon we will starve. Soon we will have nothing! It is no different anywhere else." He took a heavy breath, his words hard and dark. "Truly... we are cursed."

"These ideas," Umarah said, narrowing his eyes and holding out his fingers. "This desperation... men will do terrible things in such fear... trust things they should not in such fear."

"Don't play high and mighty with me, Umarah!" Wadi shouted, cutting the air with his hand. "I'm being a realist! If we are to survive, we have to change with the times! If not this, then what else? The Caliph is gone. God has forsaken these lands! We can't turn down money just because the infidel offers it! Just because the infidel holds the coin purse!"

"Do not take me wrong, Wadi," Umarah said, turning around to look over his shoulder. "I am considering this offer... but I want to be cautious about it." He looked back at the pamphlet on his desk--to the wavy black seal at its bottom--to the runny letters written on its aged parchment.

"Be cautious then," Wadi replied. "Take your time. Arrive to the same conclusions I have." He turned around and began to leave the tent. He held up its exit and turned his head, looking at his friend sitting silent at his desk. He frowned. "You know I am right Umarah," then his frown softened. "Just think about it." And with that final word, Wadi left--the tent closing down behind him--Umarah was alone.

When Wadi had left, Umarah exhaled and closed his eyes. He let out a drawn out sigh and opened his eyes again. They narrowed down on the parchment in his hands. The candle lit up his face. He brought his right hand up to his beard and continued to stroke there, grabbing the black and gray strands of hair and running them through his calloused fingers. The times are changing, Umarah thought. Then he bit his lips. But are the ghul simply a symptom... or are they the harbingers of this change?

Umarah sat back and continued to read the pamplet. He would sit like that the rest of the night...