Arabesque

Munif

The bold architecture of Tivisis, the winding pathways, the terraces and wide courtyards, all faded into shades of gray as Munif moved with strong purpose. It had begun to drizzle, the last heaving breaths of some faraway storm, but the rain did nothing to alleviate the blanket-like humidity.

Munif walked steadily, his soaked outer shirt tied around his waist to cool his burns and hide his raw legs from sight. His pants and shoes had been ruined by the fiery blast, and he'd discarded both in the alley where he'd nearly been killed.

The pain of his wounds cried for relief. The familiar trembling and terrible thirst had returned. He needed affyram!

Munif had decided to shadow the squat man, knowing it would lead him to his target. Steeling himself against the agony and the hunger of his addiction, Munif was able to maintain a good distance without losing his target.

As he passed a darkened market, he made a quick detour andobtained a pair of low shoes and a couple of blankets, tossing money at the vendor without counting it, his eyes remaining locked on his prey. With the wool cloth wrapped around his face and body, he felt more confidence about moving unnoticed in the streets and staying dry in the inclement weather.

Munif was hurting, but the pain ran much deeper than the injuries inflicted by the Lamia'nar. Despite the shortcomings of men and their rulers, Munif believed in the Jassaj—he trusted in the cause for which he fought. Now his faith was shattered. One of his own had turned against him, a brother-in-arms whom he had trusted completely. The more he thought about this, the angrier he became—fueling the energy of pursuit and eclipsing his yearning for affyram.

Munif could not get the screams of the dying out of his head. Their cries of confusion, terror, and dismay were forever etched in his mind: the wave of fire igniting them, the heat consuming their bodies. When Munif had looked through the grate, he'd been greeted by the horror of their remains—they'd been caught in mid-action.

Then the traitor had shown himself. Now that man was just up ahead, leading the way to his master—someone Munif knew could only be one person.

Fajeer Dassai.

The heavy mist turned to a soaking rain as Munif continued to shadow his prey through the streets. Munif was sure the man wasn't a professional. There was no sign of tradecraft; no sudden stops to stare at some meaningless item, no random turns to catch a glimpse of a too-familiar face. Munif shook his head. The fool didn't check even once to see if he was being followed. More likely, it was just greed which lured the man in too deep with the help of Dassai. But the job wasn't complete. He would go to his employer to report his failure, and would find out then just how expendable he was.

Pavanan Munif would use the employer to track down Dassai. He knew he must not let Dassai escape from Tivisis. Munif still needed to get word to the misal'ayn at Burj al-Ansour and alert Qatani authorities of the betrayal. But the location of the tower was miles away from Tivisis. By then, Dassai could have slipped away.

Once Dassai learned of Munif's survival, he would not be safe; all trust was now gone. To make matters worse, Dassai had many spies in place, and they would be used against Munif.

Over the years, Munif had come to know of key flaw in Dassai—he was a man who often overreacted and panicked easily. In this state of heightened fear, he would make mistakes.

If Dassai eluded him here, Munif would have to get to Burj al-Ansour and alert Riyyal before Dassai's lies could.

Munif had his own doubts.