image [https://i.imgur.com/MalrzaH.png]
CHAPTER XII:
The Dynasty Al-Amin
Morning,
25 Flamestar 1011,
The Age of Night
24 Days until the Night of the Moon
Nabirah, Sultanate of Nur
The reddish clay of an opulent palace was illuminated by the morning light, bathing it in peace and an air of serenity. Beautiful flowing palms gently rustled in the windows as streams of water could be heard both inside and outside the palace. The palace was the crowning jewel of the Nur capital of Nabirah, which lay along the lush oasis which was nestled next to the southeastern range. At an old table, two len were playing a war-game on a board. One was locked intensely in the heat of the contest, preparing his move. He had long, dark, flowing hair, partly bunned, and partly stretching beyond his shoulders. His cloak was as white as snow, and his gilded armor was impeccable. He rested his gauntlet on his chin, and the other on his sheathed sword, a curved, Nur blade with an elaborate, white-gold handle and pommel.
The other was a portly old len. He wore a dark blue, almost grey, Yaporgine silk robe. It was encrusted with gold, silver, and pearl accents. His turban rested in his lap. It was tall, gold, and also encrusted with more jewels than one could count.
“I have you now, my Sultan.” Said the younger.
“Oh-ho, do jou?” Said the older. “Always so direct, Zalman. Where is the patience?”
“Forgive me, my Sultan, but I’ve already cleared half the field. You lack the numbers to resist my final advance.”
“Sometimes, Zalman…” He said. “Victory hides in the appearance of defeat.”
Zalman twirled a long lock over his bronze ear and scratched his beard.
“I hate to bring this up, my Sultan, you know I love our game.” He said. “But I did come here on intelligence business. The business you pay me for.”
“I know.” Said the old len, whose eyes didn’t depart the board. “I would say now is not ze time… but I know you too well.”
“My Sultan.” He said, subtly nodding in reverence. “As your brilliance has allowed, I have sent our representatives north, to the King of the forest-len.”
“Good.” His elder replied. “Let us pray for their safe journey, a productive meeting, and their safe return.”
“Yes, my Sultan.” He said. “There is likely much to learn from this emergency council, but I gave the order…. when King Ümgrimm asks for Nur horsemen, we will decline. We will offer horses, but no riders.”
“Hmm. And why not send some riders?” Asked the portly Sultan, who was considering where to place his next piece.
“...My Sultan?” He said. “...I know you don’t wish to speak of it… but you and I both know that these… foreigners are not providing help along the crownroads… they’re simply taking taxes from us. They have no respect for our beliefs or customs.”
“I’m aware, Zalman.” He said.
“...Then...If I may speak freely, my Sultan.” He asked.
“As free as you can.”
Zalman leaned back in his chair.
“...The world looks on us… poorly now.” He said. “They wonder why you entreated with the foreigners, our ancient enemy, and brought them into our sands, in the face of the wake of carnage they leave wherever they go now.”
“You know why, Zalman. It is true they have become greedy. This greed has made them powerful. And so, zey offer protection. Zey offered to lower their ancient, wicked gates to our merchants. After seven-hundred years of walls and discrimination.” He said. “We know how to deal with the Fiorans. Give them the illusion of more. The illusion of control. It seems zis new organization… zis… empire… ironically may be less close-minded than the Fioran kings of old…”
“Yes… much of what you say is true my Sultan… but can’t you see through it? This is all a ploy. Soon they will engulf us and we will become entirely their vassals.” He said, growing with concern. “Now their legions swarm the north and the east, all the way to the Mystal Crossing. These… ‘imperial’ Fiorans as you say… it is true, they are not like the Fiorans the great Al-Amins of your bloodline battled. "
Zalman took a deep breath and leaned in, his countenance growing intensely with energy.
"...And that is precisely the problem, my Sultan… They are… far more bold. Ambitious… dangerous.”
“And, they will be dealt with in due time.” said Sultan Al-Amin.
“Yol smiles upon us, Zalman… we are his chosen beople.” He said.
“There is… something else I have not mentioned.” Said Zalman.
“The Alnujum.”
Sultan Al-Amin’s eyes drew up from the board to his captain.
“Yes?”
“Reports are… Marauder bands have increased ten… twenty fold. Many are Nur, yes, your subjects… but it has drawn in bands from the south, Kemodesians, as well as Fioran soldiers of fortune.”
Al-amin’s eyes were fixed on him.
“And?”
“And… some reports of a Rajari band making their way toward… the Den.”
“Rajari?” He said. “Those greedy criminals…?”
“Why do you tell me zis, Zalman, why have you not sent horses? Rajari thieves should be disbatched to the Nine Winds where they belong. They are never to be trusted. No brinciples, only money.”
“My Sultan… I do not think it wise to spread our forces… we may need… to defend Nabirah.”
“Defend Nabirah from who!?”
“From the Fiorans!” Said Zalman, growing fiery.
Al-Amin scooted up, bumping the table with his protruding belly.
“Zalman… You forget yourself, lenning. I tell you already…” He said, wiping his spectacles with the Yaporgine robe.
“The Fiorans are no threat. But.. this desecration… is not acceptable!”
“My lord, please, we should be sending the full force of our might to the border to show Venrex Venzio that we will not concede any more land to him. To show him Sultan Fazil Al-Amin II and the Nur beople will not be bullied!” A strong feminine voice bellowed.
Through the satin curtains, a beautiful figure slowly floated through the portal of the room. Zalman, noticing that Al-Amin’s cheeks had gone rosy as he began to smile widely, rose to his feet, scooting his chair loudly.
“Kaida… my darling.” said the Sultan.
“P-princess,” said Zalman, staggered.
She possessed beautiful bronze skin and black silken hair. Her face was rather plain, although adorned with beauty marks. She had some scarring from a medical operation over her left eye, and her eyebrow was, therefore, split. Yet, her hazel eyes could turn one to stone with their unmatched beauty. She wore bright, light colors and a sparkling transparent veil over her face.
“Baba… listen to Zalman.” She said. “He’s right. These northern barbarians and their Venganzi Emperor want your crown.”
Al-Amin looked at them both and looked incredulity.
“You both are young. You do not understand.”
Fazil put his crown on his head and waddled past Princess Kaida, whose gaze followed him.
“And so what if I am young, Baba!?”
The Sultan's eyes met Kaida's for an instant, a silent exchange filled with years of unspoken understanding and expectations. Al-Amin inhaled deeply, his face softening for a fleeting moment before he addressed them both.
"Your youth blinds you to the subtleties of being Sultan," he declared, placing his elaborate crown back atop his head. "There are matters you do not yet comprehend."
Al-Amin waddled deliberately through the door with a rustle of silk and the faint aroma of spiced incense trailing him. Kaida's hazel eyes—potent and filled with a mix of respect and defiance—followed him, her gaze lingering as though trying to pierce the armor of his resolve. He paused at the threshold, allowing the satin curtains to part around him, their movement almost resembling a reluctant farewell. Then, without another word or backward glance, he stepped through the portal and disappeared, leaving Kaida and Zalman alone in the weighty silence of the chamber.
When it was clear that the Sultan was now gone, Kaida and Zalman embraced and kissed passionately.
“My love…” She said in Nur. “How I have missed you…”
“And I you, my rose,” said Zalman.
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“How was your trip to the Alnujum?”
“Not as productive as I would have liked.” He said.
“Did you find the infidels who desecrated the Den?”
“No, my rose. But I have confirmed that this blasphemy has attracted the worst of faraway lands to our sands. It was not safe for me to push into the valley alone.” He said with some music in his voice as he caressed her face and tucked her hair behind her right ear.
“My father is showing himself to be more and more of a fool in his old age every day…”
“Don’t speak such things…” Said Zalman. “He is old fashioned.”
“Is he?” She said. “My grandfather would have unleashed the full might of our horse-lords upon the imperial holdings until they begged for peace! He would have unleashed the most deadly alchemists and magicians upon them, forcing them to negotiation.”
“...He is the Sultan.” He said. “He has Yol’s blessing. We must be obedient…”
Kaida snickered.
“You’re not so obedient…” She said. “You know that our love is forbidden. You shouldn't be touching me, let alone looking at me. Yet… you do so anyway.”
“And...And Hey! You are not obedient either, Kaida… !”
She snickered again.
“Relax... If loving you will mean death then we will love each other straight into the Nine Winds of Umbraneth… and..."
Zalman looked somewhat nervous, peering over her shoulder, making sure no one could see them.
"I'll tell them it was all your idea.” She quipped.
“Don’t speak this way, Kaida!”
“Why, my love?” She said. “Will you have nightmares?”
Zalman himself was now blushing.
“I am the son of a prostitute, Kaida…” He said. “If our people... Yol forbid the Sultan knew that you and I…”
“Hush.” She said.
“I love you.” She said. “When we are married… and we shall be... they will not say the royal consort is the son of a prostitute… they will rejoice that the sons I will bring into this world will descend from a great warrior.”
Zalman took her hand from his face.
“I pray Yol will smile upon this as you say…”
“He will.” She said. “And if not, you will take me on your horse, and we will make our home elsewhere…”
The two kissed once more.
She shook him slightly and pierced into his eyes with her own, which flickered with a flame of passion.
“You WILL.”
“Y-yes.” said Zalman.
“Good. It is settled. Again.”
She smiled.
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As twilight began to settle over the land, the light's last embrace gave way to the ethereal glow of the Nur night sky, its violet hue painting streaks across the sky. It was visible through the grand windows of the opulent palace, like a box of celestial jewels in a tapestry of dusky shades. Inside, a noticeable shift in the atmosphere marked the close of another day in the court of the Sultan.
Servants moved with choreographed grace, their fans generating a soft breeze that caressed the room. The fat Sultan, his form generously enveloping the plush velvet of his lavish seat, languidly picked dates from a gilded bowl. His eyes, however, betrayed a mind occupied by concerns more weighty than the sweet fruits he consumed.
To his left, Princess Kaida sat, her posture immaculate yet tense, her thoughts drifting back to her earlier conversation with Zalman. On the Sultan's right, Zalman too was lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the distance but his mind grappling with the nearness of their secret love. Their physical proximity to the Sultan created a juxtaposition of power, affection, and hidden defiance, the tensions beneath the surface forming an invisible lattice as complex as the woven tapestries that adorned the walls.
A servant read a scroll aloud.
“And my lord… we have here, one guard from his majesty’s dungeon in Nur-Surra… who has been suspected as an accomplice in the desecration of the Den of Glory and Excellence.”
Kaida and Zalman glanced at one another. Zalman shifted in his seat, putting his gauntlet to his chin, eager to listen.
The Sultan slurped as he ate and licked his lips.
“Send him.”
Two guards drug the half-nude len and dropped him before the throne.
“Speak.” said the Sultan. “Why are you brought before me.”
“..m-my sultan… I…” he said. “I never would have come against you or do anything to harm our beople!”
The servant who escorted him in dropped a half-empty bag of Fenrarii.
“Imperial coins.” Said Zalman.
“What is the meaning of zis?” Asked Fazil. “Is zis your money?”
“M-my Sultan… I… I…”
The guard to his left kicked him in the stomach, causing him to groan in pain.
“...it isn’t mine!” He said. “It was given to me!”
The court began to murmur.
“A bribe?!” Said Kaida forcefully. “Surely you know the law!”
“Yol forbids bribery.” Zalman followed with a somewhat musical uptick. “The punishment is death...”
“Death.” Said Kaida, who reclined after her father abruptly raised his hand.
“Why did you receive zis money?” He asked, licking his fingers.
“...A foreigner.” Said the disgraced guard, who began to weep. “He came in and offered it if I released the two others…”
“Foreigners you were to bring before his majesty!” Zalman said. “You are in grave peril.”
“Who was the len who paid you?” the Sultan demanded.
“It was… a fair-skinned young len…” He said. “A northerner.”
“What kind of northerner?” He said.
“His face was without blemish, and he had a lot of money. He wore a jeweled turban and his skin was like the sparkle of the sun on the water in the east.
“Hmm.” Said Zalman. “What else can you tell us, knave?”
“...there were two prisoners… one of ze prisoners was an old len, from the swamp island.”
“Mystalbion.” said Zalman, stroking his goatee. “Go on.”
“And… ze other… the len who paid me said he was looking for someone named… Ithandacar. Ithandacar. He kept saying Ithandacar.”
“A northern surname.” He said. “The son of Ithand… hmm.”
“That is not a Fioran name, my Sultan.”
“You are wise, Zalman.” Said Fazil.
“Mystish.” The Sultan continued. “So are ze Mystish robbing our holy places?”
“Odd for them. They’re usually respectful to our ways.” Said Zalman. “...this does not sound like Mystalen.”
“Did you get the name of the len who paid you?”
The guard began to cry.
“M-my lord.. I…” He wept. “I can’t remember…”
The escort kicked him again.
“R-raj! R-raj something!”
Zalman’s eyes widened, and he dropped his hand from his chin.
“Raj…” he said. “A Rajari perhaps?”
“...the Rajari caravan…” He said to himself under his breath.
“Is that all?” Fazil asked.
“Y-yes… I swear…”
Kaida glanced to her father.
“Kill him, father.” she demanded. “Acceepting bribes while in royal service is a mortal sin.”
Fazil didn’t pay notice.
“Forgiven.” He said abruptly with a whimsical uptick, returning to his bowl, uniterested.. “Return to your family.”
Zalman exhaled through his nose, uncomfortably.
“F-father?” Said Kaida. “The scriptures are clear!”
Fazil raised his hand and sharply looked to his daughter.
“Yol’s ways are mercy as well as justice, Kaida.”
“Take him.” He said. “Take him to the clerics for his… wounds.”
"P-praise you Yol! T-thank you my Sultan... thank you!!" The guard cried.
The royal escorts lifted him and made their way to the great door, which servants began to open. The Sultan remained seated on his opulent throne, eyes scanning beyond the slightly ajar palace doors. His gaze fell upon the waiting audience, among whom stood the Grand Vizier. With a slight, graceful wave of his hand, Fazil beckoned him to enter. The room was a masterpiece of craftsmanship and taste: the walls adorned with palms that swayed ever so slightly in the air, channels of water flowing quietly in a circuit around the room, casting a soothing, liquid luster.
But what captured the eye most was the intricate mosaic on the floor at the room's center. It depicted a venerable scene from the holy scripture, the Lyric of Yol. Warriors and mages, animals and spirits, all were woven into an elaborate picture, forming an ornate circle around an image of Yol himself, palm extended in both offering and command. It was a sacred image that reminded everyone who entered the chamber of the empire's divine heritage, which traced to the beginning of Lyban civilization.
As the Grand Vizier stepped onto the priceless Nur carpet that led straight to the throne, the vivid threads seemed to come alive as if in honor of the solemn moment. Slowly and deliberately, he approached, finally falling to his knees before Sultan Fazil, his face lowered in reverence and fealty.
“My Sultan.” He said.
“Rise.” Said Fazil.
“What do you bring to this chamber?”
“News.” Said the Vizier, who rose to his feet.
Zalman and Kaida were seated in a state of unease, their minds preoccupied with the possibility that their peers shared the same sense of diminished reverence as a result of the decision.
“I have received a message from the Fiorans.” He said. “The cohort you have summoned is making good pace along the crown roads, and will soon arrive in city.”
Zalman and Kaida both jerked in their seats.
You summoned an imperial cohort!? Kaida thought to herself.
Zalman exhaled deeply, dejected and concerned.
“Good.” Said Fazil, smiling jovially. “Their legions will assist in rounding up the sinners in the sacred valley.”
“...As you wish… my Sultan.” Said the Vizier, who bowed and then made his way out of the chamber.
The sultan rocked himself once, twice, trying to create momentum to get himself out of the seat.
“This chamber is concluded…”
He said. “I bid you goodnight.”
Fazil removed his turban and handed it to Zalman, who put it in his lap.
He began to unbutton his ornate silk tunic as he waddled toward the corridor toward his chamber.
The princess gripped her satin leggings with a fist and struggled not to seethe with rage.
She turned to Zalman, expecting a look of validation.
Zalman was looking down at the mosaic pattern on the great floor.
“Ithandacar..."
All he kept saying was "Ithandacar."