Genie of the Lamp

Prologue

Azgham struggled, his forehead coated in sweat. He had sworn that when this moment came, he would be strong like his father and grandfather before him. But now here he was and battling to keep his moist hands from shaking. Azgham tried to shake the blood-soaked clumps of hair from in front of his eyes but only succeeded in splattering his own forehead with crimson droplets. He coughed and spat mucus thick with scarlet on the ground. His knees went weak at the sight of a shining white piece of bone that sat in the small pool of tinted phlegm. Azgham's legs gave out underneath him. A ring of blinding white framed his vision, and a deep nausea churned in his stomach. 

Azgham's momentary lightheadedness was broken as one of the guards jabbed him in the back with his staff. Azgham gasped as a searing pain coursed through his body from his broken ribs. He gritted his teeth together, ignoring the soreness of his chipped tooth, and forced himself to keep walking along the never-ending, narrow hall. 

Just put one foot down. Then the other. He thought to himself. Each footstep was agony on his sore and broken body, but he wouldn't let himself collapsed.

The two guards finally led him to a pair of giant twin doors. Two slaves stood, silent and still in front of the chamber, their gazes straight ahead and their chests puffed out. They wore the garb of guards, but their skin was marked with years of unending slavery. 

The slaves opened the ornate doors, revealing a wide, round, chamber. Intricate designs were carved into the walls. The chamber was empty, save a single torch hanging on the wall. The guards shoved Azgham inside. He collapsed to the ground as the doors shut behind him with a loud thud. 

Azgham pushed himself off of the ground with shaking arms. Every inch of skin was covered in bruises from when the guards had beaten him. It had only been a matter of time before they caught him. He had expected the beating. He had expected eternity in a dungeon or even execution. He could handle that. It wasn't like he had anything to live for. What he hadn't expected was all of this. Where was he?

Azgham pulled his aching body into a kneeling position and looked around. The room was dim, lit only with a single torch. Why take him here? And why didn't they take it from him?

Azgham retrieved the offending item from his pocket. It was a necklace. Azgham fingered the blue pearls and silver fastenings. It was remarkable craftsmanship. Probably worth quite a bit. Yet the guards hadn't even bothered to take it from him. That fat man from the marketplace would be disappointed. His necklace would never be returned. 

A long creek echoed through the chamber. Azgham looked up to see the doors opening again. The silhouette of a tall thin man in full royal dress stood against the almost blinding light. Azgham shielded his eyes with his fingers as the brightly lit hallway spilled into the dim chamber. 

The man stepped into the room. Azgham instantly recognized him as the sultan's chief advisor, but he wore the clothes of a royal. The man noticed Azgham eyeing his clothes.

"The sultan had an... accident today." He said solemnly."We are all mourning for his late Excellency." 

The mischievous glint in the man's eyes made Azgham doubt his loyalty. It did not matter. The affairs of royalty did not concern him. 

The man fingered something within his robes. A knife perhaps? A sword? The man retrieved, instead, a rusted oil lamp. He did not light it, but set it down on the ground in front of Azgham. Was he giving it to him?

"Pick it up." He ordered.

Azgham obeyed, unsure of the consequences if he did otherwise. The lamp was small, about the length of his hand. The metal was once silver in color, but long faded under a thick coat of dirt and grime. If polished, it would be quite beautiful, though not worth much.