The Complete Parsina Saga

Volume I: SHRINE OF THE DESERT MAGE-7

All fatigue was banished by his burning curiosity. Arising from his bed, he quickly donned his loose, flowing kaftan and his zarabil and strode rapidly from the room. Down and down the spiral staircase of stone he walked, each step precise and formal with no wasted motion; Akar descended four flights into the heart of the mountain, and then walked across the corridor into the meditation room. Tiny bumps in the floor guided the blind wizard’s steps to the exact center of the room, where he sat crosslegged to contemplate this interruption of the universal harmony.

The floor, walls, and ceiling of this large chamber were covered with symbols and incantations. The power of their magic was so strong Akar could sense the patterns drawn around him. From this point, like a spider in the center of the universe’s web, he could feel the flow of events and trace them back to the source of the disturbance.

Carefully, gently, patiently, Akar touched each strand of the web in its turn, tasting it, feeling its resonance. Hours passed while the wizard sat motionless, absorbed in his own personal cosmos. The intricacy of the patterns, at which he normally marveled, was tonight a frustrating distraction. Something important had happened, and it was vital he learn what it was.

The sun was well above the mountainous horizon when Akar finally broke from his trance and stretched his stiffened limbs. Despite his best efforts, all he’d gotten was an answer that was no answer—and the reason for that lay in the nature of the Holy City itself.

Upon completion of Ravan many centuries ago, the wizard Ali Maimun cast what was probably his greatest spell to protect the city and preserve it from evil. Holy relics were placed in hidden niches within the walls, and the four shards of the Crystal of Oromasd were used to bind one final invocation upon the city. Magical beings who followed the path of Rimahn could not pass its walls without being instantly vaporized. Human practitioners of magic who dealt with spirits loyal to Rimahn would suffer a similar fate. Even those magical beings of neutral persuasion entered Ravan at their peril and dared exercise their talents as little as possible for fear of consequences. Ali Maimun could do nothing to bar people bent on ordinary human mischief, or the city would have lain empty since its conception—but by casting the spell as he did he preserved the magical purity of the city dedicated to the goodness of Oromasd.

Because of Ali Maimun’s spell, there was a hollow in the web where Ravan ought to be. Akar could trace all the tremors, all the vibrations he felt, back to the very walls of Ravan, and there all seeing ended. Something had happened within the walls of Ravan, something that set the strands of the web twitching to the farthest reaches of Parsina—but the nature of that something remained a mystery. No amount of meditation or contemplation would unravel the puzzle. If Akar wanted to learn more, he would have to take direct action.

The wizard left his meditation room and went upstairs to ponder his next move over a much-belated breakfast. A word of command brought a Jinn to his side to prepare his usual parsimonious meal while he thought.

The only way to learn what had happened in Ravan was to go there in person. At the same time, Akar knew he dared not enter the gates of the city; to do so meant instant death. Akar was not a follower of Rimahn and by no means considered himself wicked. He took no position in the eternal struggle between what men called good and evil, creation and destruction. He worshiped neither Oromasd nor Rimahn. He considered himself simply a scholar in pursuit of knowledge, and of the power such knowledge brought him.

But Akar knew that rationale would not save him from the spell that surrounded Ravan. In his search for knowledge and power he often dealt with djinni, daevas, and other of Rimahn’s less desirable creatures. He did not capitulate to them, did not succumb to their petty temptations. But even such dealings as he’d had were enough to condemn him according to the strictures set forth by the centuries-dead Ali Maimun.

If he could not enter Ravan himself, he would have to send a representative. The agent he sent would have to be one of the enslaved magical beings he controlled by the force of his will and the power of his magic. No human could be relied upon to serve his wishes so completely.

But that path, too, had its complications. His most powerful and most clever servants were all originally creatures of Rimahn, though they now served Akar exclusively. They were candidates for instant vaporization if they passed the walls of the Holy City. Akar’s spy would have to be picked with great care to ensure the mission’s success.

Having now finished his breakfast, Akar rose from the sofreh and went downstairs into the room of the talismans. He walked purposefully over to one large ivory case resting on a table and lifted the heavy carved lid. Inside, each resting on its own base, were more than a hundred rings. Each was different; some were of gold, some of silver, some of brass, even some of tin; they had stones of differing colors and values, and each ring had its own unique inscription written around the outside of the band.

Akar’s sensitive fingers systematically examined each ring in turn, reading the inscription and contemplating the possibilities. Akar shook his head and replaced one ring after another until, at last, he came to one that gave him pause. It was a brass ring and the stone set in it was a small piece of jasper. It was scarcely the most valuable of his rings, but at the moment it was the one most ideally suited to his purpose.

The ring of Cari. Yes, Cari would be perfect for this task. She was but a minor sprite, a Jann—fifth and lowest order of the djinni race. She was a young spirit, barely two centuries old, and so lacking in experience that she’d almost certainly had no involvement with anything connected with Rimahn. Her line was of the so-called righteous Jann, those who followed the path of Oromasd; it made her far easier to control than the pugnacious and more numerous “lower” Jann who worshipped Rimahn—and, more importantly, it made her more likely to survive the spell of Ravan.

Akar smiled as he slipped Cari’s ring on the middle finger of his left hand. His needs were not complex; Cari should be quite adequate to handle the simple tasks he’d require of her in Ravan. And if something should go wrong and the spell of the Holy City destroyed her—for all djinni can die, though they are more powerful and longlived than humans—it would not be a major loss. Jann were easily replaced. Cari would be his tool, nothing more.

With that question decided, Akar set about making preparations for his journey to Ravan.

Chapter 4: The Regent’s Diwan

The palace of Ravan was one of the architectural wonders of its age. It was built of the finest materials available: rare marble from the quarries of Chudistan, delicate alabaster from the far shores of Libayy, sturdy cedar from the coastal forests of Bann. The central courtyard was vast enough to stage parades of the king’s mounted troops, and the throne room indoors was nearly as large. The palace housed not only the royal family but also the army of servants, slaves, and scribes needed to run the household and administer the affairs of the kingdom. Behind the palace, against the northern wall of Ravan, were separate barracks for both the Royal Guard and the city police, as well as stables for the guards’ horses and for the mounts of the royal princes.

The throne room was so large that a man shouting at one end could scarcely be heard at the other but for the clever design that carried the king’s voice to every corner. There was a large fountain sunk into the floor at the center, with the domed ceiling rising four stories above at this point. Skylights in the dome let in the rays of the sun, which fell in even patterns no matter what time of day. Other domes and squinches around the ceiling at lesser heights added to the open feeling of the room.

The floor of this vast chamber was tiled in an intricate geometric pattern of green and white. The enormous pillars in the center holding up the domed ceiling were of white marble flecked with veins of black and gold. The smaller columns, row upon row of them around the rectangular room, were carved from malachite to the height of a tall man, then alabaster the rest of the way, with the seaming between the two materials covered by gold trim. The walls on all four sides were mosaic—some floral, some geometric. Little niches at regular intervals held jade statuettes, crystal carvings, ivory images, and other examples of fine artistic workmanship. Censers hanging from the walls were constantly burning so the delightful fragrances of incense continually filled this royal chamber.

At the front of the hall was a raised leewan platform, across which were strewn some woven mats. In the center of the leewan was the royal throne, a sturdy oaken chair so covered with gold, diamonds, and emeralds that the wood itself was almost invisible. A green satin pillow graced the seat unused, for the throne of Ravan stood vacant—as it had for the past eight years.

When King Shunnar died those many years ago he left behind him two sons of almost identical age. Prince Ahmad was born to Shunnar’s favorite concubine Yasmeen; Prince Haroun was born just one month later to Shammara, one of Shunnar’s official wives, though she did not bear the title of queen. That title had belonged to Shunnar’s beloved first wife, and he had never bestowed it again after her death.

The two boys were but ten years of age when their father lay dying and so the king, in his last official act, appointed his most trusted wazir, Kateb bin Salih, to act as regent. Ahmad was to be crowned king upon coming of age on his eighteenth birthday; if he did not survive, the throne would pass to Prince Haroun on his eighteenth birthday. On the day after Hakem Rafi’s theft in the Temple of the Faith, Prince Ahmad lacked but six months of his eighteenth birthday.

Kateb bin Salih was a wise and just man, and ruled Ravan and the surrounding territory in exemplary fashion. But he was also an old man, even when King Shunnar appointed him as regent. His health had begun to fail in recent years, and with it his mind. He lost nothing of his sense of ethics, but he lacked the vigor to carry through on his decisions and his memory began to forsake him.

But Shammara, mother of the younger Prince Haroun, was all too willing to provide her strength to make up for the regent’s weakness.

Three times each week the regent would hold a diwan in the manner of the late King Shunnar. At the diwan, with the regent sitting crosslegged on a mat beside the empty throne, Kateb bin Salih would hold forth in open court. At such times he decreed his edicts, received ambassadors, and adjudicated such disputes as came before the throne. Never in all his term as regent had Kateb bin Salih missed a day of presiding over the diwans, even though they now brought a terrible burden onto his failing health. His eyesight was weak and his memory weaker, but still he tried to the best of his ability to dispense justice as King Shunnar would have done it.