Keepers of the sword, p.36
Keepers of the Sword, page 36
Zoram felt a weight slip from his heavy heart. And while he largely believed the words, he still had questions to ask and gaps to fill in. “Laban and others suspect this. They say that when my father discovered this plot, this conspiracy with the Babylonian princess, you had him killed and thrown from the top of the wall.”
“These are lies!” the woman exclaimed. “Matteniah would never—”
“Be still, woman!” the king ordered.
“But what of the messenger? The letters? He said they were found in your chambers.”
The king shook his head. “I can’t explain it, but you must believe me. They are not mine. I had never seen them before last night.”
“Tell him,” the woman said. “Tell him about when the letters were said to be written.”
Matteniah held up his hand to quiet her. “Forgive my wife. She’s a very passionate woman and protective of her husband. But what Jerusha says speaks to the truth. Some of the letters, we were told, were written when I lived in the country, even before my uncle took the throne. Someone must have planted them in my room; that’s all I can think.”
Zoram was surprised how quickly he believed his old friend. The king was innocent, Zoram was certain of it. “Is there anyone you suspect?”
The king sighed. “It would be easier to ask if there’s anyone I don’t suspect. There’s no one I can trust. My advisors are corrupt and self-serving, my generals have their own agendas, and always this pressure from Babylon.” He returned to his family and put his arms around them. “There are few I do trust. You are one of them, Zoram.”
Zoram bowed slightly at the waist. “I am the Keeper of the Sword, bound to serve the One True God and His people. You are my king.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
There was a space of silence as their trust was forged anew. Finally the king spoke. “There is a plot and conspiracy, of that I am certain.”
“You suspect someone?”
“I do.” Matteniah hesitated. “Laban.”
“Of course,” Zoram said. “Because he suspects you.”
“No, no, that’s not it. After the charges were leveled against me, he had the room cleared. He spoke to me, to us, alone. None of this seemed to be a surprise to him. Oh, he expressed his concern, but it was all too . . . rehearsed.”
Zoram wasn’t convinced. “Laban may have many faults, to be sure, but he’s the Keeper of the Records. It’s his sworn and solemn duty to protect the records.”
“I know, I know. This all sounds too incredible to believe, but there’s a great deal he isn’t saying.”
“Nor does he have to. If he truly suspects you, he will, undoubtedly, keep things from you. Suspicions and feelings are one thing, but—”
The king held up a small vial.
“What’s that?” Zoram asked.
“Poison, I suspect. He slipped me this as we spoke and urged me to do the ‘right thing.’ He also made it clear that he knew about Jerusha and Mulek.”
Zoram held out his hand and took the vial. Opening it, he took a cautious whiff. “I don’t smell anything, but many poisons have no odor. But assuming it is, maybe he wanted to save you, your family, and the crown you wear the shame and controversy allegations like this will cause.”
“Laban knows nothing of mercy. He is a cunning serpent. He is a shrewd manipulator.”
“He’s also my counterpart and master.”
“Your master?”
“As Keeper of the Records, I and the Sword are servants to the records and their Keeper.”
“I mean you no disrespect. You are a good man, honest and true. I do not mean to speak ill of anyone not deserving, but I will caution you not to turn your back to him.”
Zoram accepted the advice. “No one saw him give this to you or heard what he said about your family?”
“The Elders had all left the room by then, but I believe there was one who might have witnessed it.”
“Then you must send for him.”
“I can’t. He’s the only one I trust to help me. He’s looking into these allegations and conducting an investigation of his own.”
Zoram knew instantly who Matteniah was referring to. “Ammon?”
The king nodded. “Besides you, he is the only one who knows everything. We have known each other for years. He’s the only other soul I can trust right now.”
“And where was he when Laban spoke to you?”
The king motioned to a doorway on the far end of the other room. “I spotted him out of the corner of my eye but got a message to him before he made himself known. I haven’t spoken with him, but he heard enough to know where to start looking. But he is only one man, and if he’s caught digging for information in the wrong place . . . Well, I’d hate to think what might happen to him. I couldn’t bear to have his death on my conscience.”
The more Zoram thought about what the king was telling him, the more he could feel a cold stone forming in the pit of his stomach. “If Laban is involved, then the records are in grave danger. I must see that they are kept safe.” He turned to leave.
“Wait,” the king called out. “Take Jerusha and Mulek with you.”
“There isn’t time.”
“Please.”
“You can take them yourself.”
“No, no I can’t.”
“Sure you can. You remember, the passageway is in the back of—”
“I know where it is, but I cannot leave. If I am found missing, my guilt will be confirmed in the eyes of the Elders. I must stay and fight this if I am ever going to be free of these allegations. But I cannot risk my family. Will you please help them get beyond the palace walls? They can make travel arrangements in the city, but I do not dare send them unaccompanied. Please, Zoram, will you do this for me? I am asking you as a friend.”
Though Zoram knew his duty and calling were to do everything in his power to watch over and protect the records, he also knew he could not refuse the righteous request of a friend in need. And besides, he noted for the second time in as many days, there was something special about this boy that almost compelled Zoram to help him.
Zoram reached out his hand to the boy’s mother. “Come with me.”
Leading Jerusha and Mulek out of the palace, past the guards, and deep into the streets of the city took much less time than he had feared. The mother and child were quick on their feet and followed instruction without deviation, question, or complaint. It seemed to Zoram that their travels were almost too easy, as if they were being watched over. There was one time when, if one of the soldiers in Laban’s Fifty had simply turned one way instead of another, the trio would have been spotted, but for the grace of God, he didn’t, and they were able to escape unnoticed.
Zoram watched with amazement that quickly became respect as the boy’s mother found a small caravan and convinced the master to include them on a trek north through the mountains. She was a strong woman, and Zoram could see Matteniah’s attraction to her and his concern for her safety. He was fortunate to have found a woman like her. In another time she would have made a magnificent queen.
The arrangements made and money exchanged, Zoram excused himself and started to leave when a pair of small hands pulled on his coat.
“Thank you,” Mulek said, giving his legs a hug. “The Lord is with you; I can feel it.”
Unaccustomed to being hugged by a child, Zoram dropped to one knee and gave an awkward squeeze back. “Be good. Do as your mother says, and never give her reason to doubt your love.” Zoram was surprised at these last words, wondering where they had come from. This was not what he meant to say, and he suspected they were meant more for his own benefit than the boy’s. He was suddenly at peace, knowing that he had never—and would never—give his departed mother and father cause to question his faith and resolve.
“Will I ever see you again?” the boy asked, his eyes tearing up. “Or that great sword you made?”
A rising surge of emotion constricted Zoram’s throat and threatened to make him cry. He caught himself and tried to smile instead. “Perhaps, the Lord willing.”
Mulek looked as serious and somber as a wise man well taken in years. “I think we will.” Then he gave Zoram one last hug and took his mother’s hand, disappearing into the crowds of people that filled the streets.
Zoram stood there, mesmerized by the boy’s almost prophetic prediction. Would they meet again? He couldn’t explain the feeling he had, but he sensed that he had done the right thing in seeing them safely out of the city.
The records!
With a greater sense of urgency than before, he turned and sprinted back toward the palace grounds.
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
Zoram couldn’t risk making his suspicions known to anyone. There was no way to know who was involved in this conspiracy or how far it had spread. He kept to the back roads and alleyways on his way back up the hill to the palace grounds. He didn’t really have a plan—there wasn’t time to formulate one. He could almost hear Wu Yien arguing with him, a world away, that without a plan the battle’s outcome was determined even before the first encounter. But he needed to reach the records before they were taken.
A loud commotion of voices yelling farther up the hill near the palace startled Zoram. Ducking down a side street and crouching behind a stack of discarded lumber and broken crates, he watched as a big man came barreling down the street as if his life was in danger. Three armed men chased after him, though their speed and determination could not match the fleeing man’s. One of the pursuers yelled for him to stop. “Thief!” he called, and then they rounded a corner and were gone again. It took Zoram a moment or two to recognize the clothing they were wearing. They were servants of Laban. Had the man they were chasing tried to steal the records?
His sense of urgency rose to unprecedented levels. He needed to get to the treasury, and fast.
The palace grounds were crawling with even more soldiers than before. This apparent attempt to steal the records had precipitated the call for reinforcements. If he was going to get inside the walls—
“Hey! You!”
Zoram stopped and turned around. A guard approached. “This area is restricted to official—” He suddenly recognized who he had stopped. “Forgive me, Keeper.”
Zoram had no other option than to play along and see how far his title and position could get him. “What is going on here, soldier?”
The man hesitated for only a second before answering him. “There has been a threat made on the records. Laban has issued the call to all loyal men to help protect them. You have, no doubt, heard about the king? “
“The king?”
“He is a traitor to his country and his people.”
“Yes, but I’m not yet convinced,” Zoram said, trying his best to sound authoritative. “I am glad, though, to see so many men out ensuring the safety of the records.”
“But it may not be enough. There have already been at least two attempts to steal them since yesterday.”
“Two?”
“I heard that last night a religious fanatic stormed the treasury, and then, just now, another broke into Laban’s house and demanded the plates. It’s hard to believe.”
Zoram agreed. It was hard to believe. It was almost impossible. Neither attempt sounded legitimate. What was going on? “That is why I must see to their safety and add my own strength to their protection.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
“I am the Keeper of the Sword. It’s my right.”
“Our orders are clear and absolute. No one is permitted access to the records. Not even you, great Keeper.”
“This is outrageous!”
“You’ll have to take it up with Laban. I’m sure he’ll make an exception.”
Zoram had learned what he needed to know. It was time to act. Zoram casually took in his surroundings and made sure they were alone and unobserved. “And where might I find Laban at this moment?”
The guard turned away and pointed back the way he had come. Zoram deftly wrapped his right arm around the man’s neck and squeezed, locking his hands to make certain the grip was sure. Zoram then slowly pulled down and back. It was a simple move but one of the most effective nonlethal ones he had mastered. The pressure on the man’s neck cut off his airway, but that was only to prevent him from screaming out and alerting the others. The real key to this technique was the angle of the head as it was pushed forward while the body was pulled backward. This temporarily cut off the blood to the brain and caused the victim to pass out. When he awoke, he would only suffer a splitting headache and perhaps a sore throat for the balance of the day.
Once the man lost consciousness, Zoram dragged him out of sight and inside one of the abandoned shops that ran parallel to the palace wall. He knew he would have to act quickly. Once the man awoke, the whole city would be alerted. Zoram knew of only one possible way to bypass the scores of men who would be guarding the treasury, and that was by way of the tunnels that connected it to the armory.
He encountered no sentries at the armory. Why should there be? It wasn’t part of the conspiracy. He paused as he passed the heavy door that he had barricaded himself behind as he worked his craft. The miraculous undertaking only a day or two before already seemed distant. Would he eventually forget the sweat and toil it took to forge that extraordinary blade? It was a magical feeling, creating a work of art from a thick block of unsightly metal. To the casual observer, it did not seem possible, but Zoram had been trained and conditioned to see not what was but what could be. In the hands of one skilled in the uses of fire and extreme heat, the crude, unsightly block of metal couldn’t help but become the most precious steel. Much like each of us, he thought, pressing his palm against the cool wood of the door. Are we so different in the hands of God?
He felt for the key. He was almost surprised to find it still in his coat pocket. He hadn’t given it a second thought since leaving the treasury the day before. His father’s key. His family’s key. Now his key. If what Laban said was the truth, then there were only two keys like this in existence, which only troubled him more. Could the king be right? Could Laban be involved in the conspiracy, after all?
He left the armory, a strange longing tugging at his heart, like he was never to pass this way again. He ventured into the far recesses of the anteroom, the dark passageway still hidden from view. He paused at the mouth of the tunnel and listened. He held his breath, straining to sense any presence or sign of a sentry. In the silence, he could only hear the thumping of his own heart in his ears. Not wanting to risk a light, he felt his way through the narrow and twisting corridor. As he neared the exit, Zoram picked up the faint light and sounds coming from the treasury anteroom. Stealing a quick glance, he was confused to see that the room was empty—the sounds were coming from inside the treasury. The door was ajar.
Had he arrived at the exact moment to catch the conspirator and thief in the act? He didn’t stop to consider the fact that he was unarmed and made a dash for the door. He startled the man at the table, busy wrapping the heavy plates with leather straps to carry them out. He had hoped it wouldn’t be Laban but had prepared himself for it if that was who turned around. It wasn’t, and for a long moment, Zoram was confused. It was Laban’s lieutenant.
“Zoram,” the man said, the name spoken with vile contempt. It was as if they were lifelong enemies. They had scarcely just met. Why would he—
Then Zoram remembered why the man had looked familiar earlier at the stables. They had met before, at his father’s funeral. He had only partially listened when Laban had introduced them. He’d had a lot on his mind, but he knew now. This had been the third soldier he had defeated that night, the one Laban intervened to save. And while Zoram hadn’t given it another thought since, it was clear that the soldier had not forgotten their little skirmish.
What was his name? He strained to recall. “Hanoch!” he ordered. “Step away from the records. You have no right to them.”
“I have no right?” Hanoch asked with calm confidence. Zoram noted that he didn’t sound like a thief caught in the act. His tone sowed seeds of doubt in Zoram’s mind. This didn’t make sense. “And I suspect you’re going to try to stop me.”
Zoram’s eyes flicked to the Sword he had only just fashioned hanging on the wall above the plates. Hanoch noticed the quick eye movement, followed it, and took the Sword before Zoram could reach for it. Zoram stopped as Hanoch tried to free the blade. But he couldn’t. Zoram lunged for it, but Hanoch tossed it far into a cluttered corner and out of reach.
Hanoch’s hand went to the hilt of his own sword. He drew it before Zoram could stop him. Zoram leapt back, narrowly avoiding the sharpened blade as Hanoch sliced upward in one fluid and ferocious motion. Falling against the wall, Zoram reached out for something, anything, to fend off the soldier’s blade. His fingers wrapped around a wooden stick, a staff of some kind, and he brought it up over his head just as Hanoch’s sword drove downward. He heard the wood crack and splinter under the force, but it held enough to block the attack and give Zoram time to move past Hanoch and assume a defensive ready stance.
“You should have stayed away,” Hanoch said.
“I cannot let you take them.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to do anything about it.”
“I will stop you. The records belong to God and His people. You cannot take them.”
“We can, and we will.”
“We? You’re not acting alone?”
“You ask too many questions. Like your father.”
Zoram was not prepared for a reference to his father, but looking into the eyes of the animal in front of him, he suddenly knew the truth. “It was you.”
Hanoch grinned. “He was so trusting. He didn’t see it coming until it was too late. It was pathetic. Personally I expected more from him, being the Keeper and all. But he was weak. Weak and useless.”
Zoram refused to listen to another word. He took the splintered staff and broke it fully over his knee. Armed with both hands, he began an all-out assault on his father’s killer. But where lesser-trained men would have panicked at the attack, Hanoch skillfully deflected everything Zoram threw at him. And then, in a surprise move, Hanoch delivered a powerful kick with his heavy boot to Zoram’s stomach, driving the air from the Keeper’s lungs as he fell backward.
