The Complete Parsina Saga

Volume I: SHRINE OF THE DESERT MAGE-8

“Yes, yes, quite,” the regent said. “We must make sure it is found and restored immediately.” And he lapsed into silence again.

Umar waited. Only when he was positive the regent was not going to continue did he attempt to prod his old friend into action. “May I ask Your Eminence to instruct the wali of police and the Royal Guard to use all available efforts to recover the urn as quickly as possible and to seal off all the gates, searching all people and packages leaving the city so the urn will not vanish?”

The regent nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, good idea, good idea. I hereby order the Royal Guard and the wali of police to give this matter their foremost attention so the stolen urn can be quickly restored to its former position.”

Umar stole a glance at Shammara behind her carved partition. There was no secret within Ravan that he and the lady had been enemies since the death of the late king. Each of them had an opinion of the way Ravan should be run that the other did not share. Umar thanked Oromasd that Shammara was not a man; only her gender had prevented her from taking over as absolute tyrant of Ravan in the years following her husband’s death.

Umar was half afraid that, despite the regent’s decree, Shammara would veto the order just to spite him personally. If that were the case, the police and the guards would make a perfunctory search and find nothing, and Umar would never be able to claim they’d failed to follow their instructions.

But, to his great relief, Shammara nodded her agreement. Apparently she felt this was a matter that didn’t concern her or her plans for Ravan, and she didn’t care whether Umar had his way or not. Umar gave a gracious nod in her direction, said his formal gratitude to the regent for his swift administration of justice, and backed away from the leewan to the side of the room.

Umar was about to leave the hall to search for the captain of the guards and the wali of police when the chamberlain announced the next supplicant to the throne: Tabib abu Saar, special envoy from His Majesty King Basir of Marakh. Important as the urn was, Umar decided it could wait until after the next confrontation. So much would hinge upon this decision. He wished he could be up on the leewan to advise his friend, but he knew Shammara would never permit it—particularly not in a matter regarding either of the princes.

Tabib abu Saar stepped proudly forward, a short, rounded man with a grizzled beard and small, piggy eyes. His robes were of rich gold brocade and his red turban held in its center an enormous canary diamond. He did not kneel or make the full salaam, but he did bow his head respectfully to the regent.

“I bring you greetings, O regent of Ravan, from Basir the Blessed, illustrious king of Marakh, ruler of the two rivers, monarch of Sab, conqueror of Formistan and despoiler of the Shiraz Plains. The peace of Oromasd be upon you.”

“And upon you, O noble…uh, Tabib. The city of Ravan welcomes you and extends its blessings to your revered master. What mission brings you before my diwan?”

Abu Saar looked startled. “Why, to receive the answer to the petition I presented last week, O illustrious regent.”

“Please refresh an old man’s memory, O noble ambassador from Marakh. What petition was this?”

Scowling with barely restrained frustration, abu Saar replied, “The petition that Prince Ahmad honor the nuptial agreements signed by King Shunnar and King Basir nearly fourteen years ago.”

“Ahmad is scheduled to marry Basir’s daughter, is he not?”

“Yes, Your Eminence, the Princess Oma, a young lady of noble lineage and incalculable beauty, combining all the wit and grace necessary for a future queen of Ravan.”

“Yes, she sounds delightful. I see nothing to stand in the way of such a marriage, particularly since it was contracted, as you say, so many years ago.” The regent leaned back for a moment and closed his eyes. When he opened them, abu Saar was still standing before him. “Are you still here? Is there something more you want?”

“A slight matter of the timing, Your Eminence,” abu Saar said through clenched teeth. “Prince Ahmad is due to ascend the throne in six more months. As I explained to you in my petition last week, King Basir requests that the wedding take place before then, so Princess Oma can be crowned queen of Ravan in the same ceremony with her husband’s coronation.”

The regent considered that. “That seems to make some sense,” he admitted. “Very well. I give permission for Prince Ahmad and Princess Oma to be married in the next few months, before the coronation.”

“Will Your Eminence then order Prince Ahmad to begin a journey to Marakh so he may wed his princess in her native land?”

“A prince of Ravan leave the city to get married? Why can’t she simply come here? That’s far more traditional, and we have more beautiful temples. A wedding in the Royal Temple would be spectacular.”

“As I explained in my original petition, King Basir grows impatient with these delays. He wonders whether Prince Ahmad actually intends to wed Princess Oma. My lord paid a high dowry these many years ago and has seen nothing but promises in return. He will not send his oldest and most beloved daughter on a journey of more than eighty parasangs with naught but a promise. Prince Ahmad must show his true intentions by coming to Marakh and marrying the princess there. Once they are legally wed and the contracts fulfilled, they may come back to Ravan for their coronation.”

“He has a point; it is a long journey,” the regent mused aloud. “Still, the journey would be just as long for Prince Ahmad, a tender young man who’s never been beyond the city walls.”

“Nonetheless, King Basir demands your prince show his good faith by traveling to Marakh to wed his bride.”

“He demands, does he?” For just an instant a trace of the old Kateb bin Salih flickered in the regent’s eyes. “By what authority does the king of Marakh make demands on the king of Ravan? Perhaps we should cancel the contract altogether if it causes this much trouble.”

Abu Saar stood his ground. “If you abrogate the marriage contract, all of Ravan will answer for the consequences.”

The regent had not the resources to continue his bluster and lapsed back into his senile droning. “I see. It’s a terribly complicated situation, isn’t it? I must give the matter more thought. Come back in a week and I’ll have an answer for you then.”

“That’s what you said last week, Your Eminence,” abu Saar said, trembling with rage. “That’s why I’m here today. Time grows short. If Prince Ahmad is to assemble a suitable caravan and travel to Marakh, and if he and Princess Oma are to have a suitable state wedding, and if they are then to travel back to Ravan in time for their coronation, the decision must be made now. It cannot be postponed any longer.”

“Oh dear. I’m not sure.” The regent’s voice became even shakier than usual. “Prince Ahmad was given over to the priests for his education. Perhaps we shouldn’t interfere.”

He stared out into the crowd. “Is the high priest still here?” he called.

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Umar said, stepping forth from the side of the hall. From behind her carved partition, Shammara’s eyes were focused exclusively on him. Umar did not relish this sudden return to the center of controversy.

The regent looked at him through squinting eyes. “Umar, O my friend, you’ve been teacher and guardian to Prince Ahmad since the death of his father. What say you to this proposal?”

Umar knew what he wanted to say, but knew it would be neither wise nor diplomatic. This decision could be more important than anyone in this room realized; Umar was glad to be given some say in it, but wished the circumstances were less public so he could speak his mind plainly to the regent. In open court like this he would have to be very careful what he said—particularly with Shammara watching from her private gallery.

“I’m afraid, O wise and just regent, I do not think it would be prudent for Prince Ahmad to leave Ravan at this time. Plans for his coronation have already begun. To take him to a foreign land now would disrupt….”

“The preparations can easily go on without him, O priest,” abu Saar interrupted rudely. “The wedding is something that cannot be done by proxy.”

The chamberlain—a man widely known to be in Shammara’s pay—stepped forward and leaned over to catch the regent’s ear. “He’s right, Your Eminence. The preparations for the prince’s coronation are elaborate, it’s true, but most of them—such as invitations, protocol, entertainments, and so forth—can be done without the prince being present. If the decision is made today and he leaves at once, there’ll still be enough time when he returns to smooth out any final difficulties.”

“But the prince is still a lad engaged in his studies,” Umar protested as he strode to the base of the leewan. “He is very wise and learned now, but he still has so much to master. His whole course of study has been laid out; to interrupt it now would cause hardship and would eventually harm the kingdom.”

“You’re his principal teacher, are you not?” the chamberlain said, standing straighter and looking boldly at Umar. “You can accompany him if you like, to continue the studies and watch over him as you’ve done so ably for the past eight years. A boy can learn on horseback as easily as he can sitting crosslegged on a mat in the madrasa.”

“It’s not right for the future king of Ravan to travel so far to marry his queen,” Umar argued, drawing on the dignity of his years and position. “By all traditions she should come to him.” Umar’s back was as straight as the hall’s columns and, as his face lifted to the opponent behind the screen, his voice rang with the trained power of a priest. In his fine robes he looked the embodiment of Oromasd.

“The ambassador has already explained why King Basir is opposed to that,” the chamberlain said, standing firm. His fear of Shammara was greater than his awe of any man. “I agree it might set an unfortunate precedent, but the alternative is also unappealing. King Basir might consider this breach of the treaty to be worth a show of force against us.”

“He wouldn’t dare make war against Ravan!” the regent exclaimed, his hands and voice showing the tremors of age.

“Of course not,” the chamberlain said, bending and speaking quietly into the regent’s ear. “But if I may point out to Your Eminence, there are considerable lands around the city itself that we depend on for food and taxes. While King Basir would not attack our city his soldiers could raid the villages and farms across the countryside, making life most uncomfortable for us.”

The regent looked at Umar with rheumy eyes. “There seem to be many good and compelling reasons why we should accede to the ambassador’s petition. Your reasons for denial, O Umar, are no less good, but far from compelling. If you have some convincing argument why I should not order Prince Ahmad to go to Marakh and wed his intended bride, I pray you let me know now.”

Umar went cold inside. To state his real reason in open court might easily defeat his whole purpose. He was convinced beyond any doubt that Shammara had orchestrated this entire plan to get Prince Ahmad away from Ravan before his coronation, but she had planned her moves well and he had no countermoves of sufficient strength to play against her.

Bowing his head, he said softly, “I have no other arguments, Your Eminence, other than those I have already voiced and my firm conviction that sending the prince away now would be bad for the boy and bad for Ravan. I urge you with all my heart to deny the petition.”

The regent looked at him a long time, and Umar could see great sadness in his eyes. “You are very wise, O my friend, and often have I listened to your counsel. I don’t doubt that you have in your heart nothing but the purest of thoughts for the safety of Ravan and Prince Ahmad. But today the argument goes against you. I agree it’s unfortunate our prince should have to make such a long journey so soon before his ascension to the throne, but at the same time I see no great and lasting harm in it.”