The Burden Of Knowing

(Final Chapter of Volume 1)

The night air in Al-Qadira carried the scent of spices, smoke, and sweat. Even as they caught their breath in the quiet alley, Sayid could feel the city's heartbeat pulsing through the walls—the distant murmur of merchants, the laughter of drunken nobles, the scuffle of hurried footsteps in the dark.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, his fingers trembling against his skin.

Mehri, still watching the entrance of the alley, clicked her tongue. "We can't stay here long."

Sayid nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. The words of the masked assassin replayed in his head.

"You do not understand what you are carrying, scholar. But you will."

The manuscript pressed against his chest beneath his robe, its weight far heavier than mere parchment should allow. It was a relic of the past—one he had hoped would lead him to answers, not to his death.

"What do we do now?" he asked, his voice lower than he intended.

Mehri finally turned to him, arms still crossed. "We?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I believe it was you they were hunting, not me."

Sayid frowned. "You could have left. You didn't."

Her smirk flickered, but she didn't deny it.

Mehri was an enigma. She had shown up when Sayid least expected it, and though she spoke as if she only looked out for herself, she had just risked her life alongside him.

"Fine," she relented, sighing. "We need to figure out who those men work for. The Order of the Black Flame is dangerous, but they don't act without orders. Someone sent them after you, which means someone knows what you're carrying."

Sayid clenched his fists. He had been careful—how had word spread so fast?

"There's only one place where we can get answers," Mehri continued. "A man named Ardashir. If anyone in this city knows who's pulling the strings, it's him."

Sayid narrowed his eyes. "And where do we find this Ardashir?"

Mehri hesitated.

"In the Undermarket."

Sayid exhaled sharply. He had heard whispers of the Undermarket—a place of shadows beneath the city, where secrets were sold like spices in the bazaar. If Ardashir was there, it meant one thing.

He was not an honest man.

But honesty had no place in a world where knowledge could kill.

---

The Undermarket

The entrance to the Undermarket was hidden beneath an abandoned storehouse at the edge of the city. By the time Sayid and Mehri arrived, the streets above had fallen into a hushed lull—only the occasional carriage passed by, the clinking of hooves against stone echoing through the night.

A rusted iron door stood at the back of the storehouse, guarded by a broad-shouldered man with a curved scimitar resting across his lap. He didn't look up as they approached.

Mehri reached into her belt, pulling out a silver coin and tossing it at his feet.

The man shifted his gaze to the coin, then to Mehri. His lips curled in mild amusement. "That all?"

She sighed, reaching into her sleeve and pulling out another, this time flicking it into the air. The guard caught it mid-spin and tucked it into his vest.

"Enter," he grunted, rapping his knuckles against the door.

With a groan, the heavy door creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

Sayid hesitated.

There were places in Al-Qadira where men were robbed in the streets. And then there were places where they simply vanished.

Mehri nudged him forward. "No second thoughts, scholar."

Sayid took a deep breath and stepped inside.

---

The Price of Knowledge

The Undermarket was unlike anything Sayid had imagined.

The cavernous space beneath the city was dimly lit by oil lamps hanging from makeshift wooden beams. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and burning incense, a heady mix that clung to his skin.

Merchants stood behind low tables cluttered with stolen goods—coins from fallen empires, jewels pried from temple walls, scrolls that crackled with forbidden knowledge.

But it was the people who unsettled him most.

Rogues with shrouded faces, mercenaries nursing their wounds over clay cups of black wine, scholars draped in ragged robes, their eyes darting nervously as they bartered for secrets.

Sayid swallowed hard.

"Come on," Mehri muttered, leading the way through the crowd.

They weaved through the market, past a woman selling rare poisons and a man whispering about an assassin for hire, until they reached the far corner.

There, seated on a silk cushion with a lazy, knowing smile, was Ardashir.

A thin man, his fingers adorned with rings, his eyes sharp as a blade. He toyed with a string of wooden prayer beads as he watched their approach.

"Ah," he murmured, voice smooth as honey. "It seems my reputation precedes me."

Mehri crossed her arms. "We need information."

Ardashir gestured to the empty cushion across from him. "Then sit. Information is a precious thing, my friends. And like all precious things, it has a price."

Sayid hesitated before lowering himself onto the cushion. Mehri remained standing, her eyes scanning their surroundings.

"Tell me," Ardashir continued, leaning forward, "what brings a scholar and a thief to my humble corner of the world?"

Sayid ignored the thief comment. "The Order of the Black Flame is after me. I need to know why."

Ardashir's smile didn't falter, but something in his gaze shifted.

"The Black Flame does not hunt without cause," he mused, twirling the beads between his fingers. "If they are after you, scholar, then you possess something of great value."

Sayid tensed. "The manuscript—"

Ardashir lifted a hand. "Say no more."

A beat of silence stretched between them before Ardashir leaned back with a sigh.

"The Order moves at the behest of powerful men. Kings, warlords, and those who wish to remain unseen. If they are hunting you, it means your little book holds a secret that someone does not want uncovered."

Sayid exhaled. He had expected as much, but hearing it spoken aloud sent a chill through his bones.

Mehri cut in. "Who sent them?"

Ardashir chuckled. "Ah, now that is the true price of knowledge, isn't it?"

He reached for a cup of tea beside him, taking a slow sip before setting it down.

"Five hundred gold dinars."

Sayid's stomach dropped.

Mehri scoffed. "You think we have that kind of money?"

Ardashir smiled. "Then perhaps the scholar should consider what knowledge is worth to him."

Sayid clenched his fists.

"Or…" Ardashir continued, voice soft, "perhaps we could negotiate another price."

Sayid narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"

Ardashir's smile widened. "A favor, dear scholar. Something only a man of your… talents can provide."

Sayid didn't like the way he said that.

But he had no choice.

The weight of the manuscript pressed against his chest—a burden that had become heavier with each passing day.

"Fine," he said. "Tell me what you need."

Ardashir leaned forward, his smile like a knife in the dark.

"Oh, it's nothing too difficult," he murmured. "Just a small task. A little errand… into the Sultan's palace."

Sayid's breath caught.

Mehri cursed under her breath. "You bastard."

Ardashir only laughed.

"Welcome to the game, scholar."

End of Volume 1