“Learn, mighty Scholar, that the children of the race of Ben-Malakim, hold the power of calling up from the silence of the grave the spirits of the dead or, summoning from the uttermost parts of the earth the spectres of the living.”
“These are idle words. Ibrahim, thou triflest with me!”
“Aldarin gaze around thee—all is dark and indistinct, the fire has burned to its embers, and the cavern beyond is wrapt in shadow. Aldarin, cast thy memory backward over the scenes of thy life, and tell me—which of thine enemies wouldst thou summon before thee in this scene of gloom?”
“He will drink the flagon at last,” muttered Aldarin; “I’ll even humor his whim. I would behold the forms of two slaves, whom I hate as darkly as my soul can hate. I would behold”—he whispered the names between his clenched teeth—“summon the slaves before me, if thou can’st!”
“Lo! it is done,”—shouted the Arabian—“Spirits of Ben-Malakim, appear—in the name of God, appear!”
“I hear a hushed sound like the tread of armies,” murmured Aldarin—“Yet all is dark around me.”
Scarce had the words passed from his lips when a dim yet lurid light, issuing from an invisible source, streamed around the cavern, and the face of Aldarin, tinted by the ghastly radiance, was stamped with an expression of wonder and awe.
Around, on every side, gathered along the rude pavement, shoulder to shoulder, a shadowy multitude stood dimly revealed in the lurid light, with dusky and immovable faces looking from beneath the shadow of sable helmets, ponderous with waving plumes.
And as Aldarin looked, the cavern was for a single moment wrapt in the darkness of midnight.
The gloom was again succeeded by the lurid light, and before the very eyes of the Scholar, gazing him sternly and fixedly in the face, stood two warrior forms, motionless as statues.