Chapter 14: The Beginning of a Journey

Arash Al Hamiroon, prince of the Ashahnai Empire, stood on the decks of their river sloop. The morning sun was warm on his skin and the brightness of its rays made the prince squint as he glanced about over the rails at the rocky cliffs abutting the water on both sides.

At one time this area had been rolling and ambling hills, but over the course of a long time, the water had clearly cut through the rocks here. In some areas the the hills receded, leaving embankments and ways to travels out of these canyons on foot.

Arash wondered why he noticed that. Is it because of what happened? Am I now more aware of escape paths after the assassins attacked the palace? It makes sense that I would be, I suppose.

He touched his neck where the puncture wounds were. They were still scabbing and quite sensitive. The skin around the area hurt deeply. In a way the surface of his skin felt more sensitive than anything else.

Then Arash yawned deeply. He had been awake for some hours, unable to sleep well all during the night, despite his many exertions. He was so tired—and more tired than he knew he should be.

I am still recovering from the poison. He looked to the skies and thought of Princess Tamu. I wonder where you are.

The splash of the sloop’s ores sounded behind him. The men were not grunting loudly as they had at first when they had escaped the palace. Now the sloop moved down river with the help of the sails and the breeze.

But were they safe? Was the sultan safe? Mother—I am so worried for you…

Someone came up behind him and Arash turned. He met the gaze of his uncle and his white beard. He was still wearing his red robes and he was barefoot, like last night.

“You need clothes, Uncle.”

The man smiled and glanced down at himself. He wore his sword at his hip. He was quite wild looking—like a pirate or an old fool who thought he was going to war.

“How are you feeling, young prince?”

“I am fine.”

“I see worry on your face.”

“Of course I am worried. We had to leave the palace in the dead of night—now we are here traveling downriver without a plan. Uncle, what are we doing? We should go back to the palace and—“

He raised a finger and Arash broke off. “The palace,” said Sahar, “is not safe.”

“What of my father the sultan and my mother?”

Sahar shrugged. “Your father can take care of himself.”

“What? And what about me?”

“It is important,” said Sahar, “to spread out the royal members in times of danger.”

“So that we cannot all be killed at once?”

Sahar said nothing, but through his beard Arash could see him smiling. He sighed heavily and touched the wounds on his neck again.

“The Vipers of Dar Shaq utilize very deadly poisons, Nephew. I do not understand how you are alive?” he said, nodding as he indicated the wounds.

“Princess Tamu saved me,” said Arash. “She killed her pegasus and I drank its blood.”

Ah, that is right! The high vizier remembered his moment of astonishment upon first finding the prince in a totally separate portion of the apartments. At the time, he had had many questions, but in their haste, had no time to indulge any of them. “Truly?” he asked, surprised.

Arash nodded and Sahar thought he saw a flicker of sadness on the prince’s features. The boy has been through much, and if I were him, my heart would be beating for the princess even now. Such a lovely creature, full of warmth, happiness, and compassion.

“The Sky Steppes value and revere their pegasi greatly,” he said. “To do such a thing, either shows the princess’ great compassion—or she loves you dearly, prince.”

The prince wondered how that could be true while his heart skipped a beat. I do not see how… “Me? Love? How can that be, Uncle?”

“You are the prince of a mighty empire.”

“Is that all?”

“You have your charms, Prince.”

“She thinks I am sheltered, Uncle.”

“You are sheltered, Arash.”

He looked at the older man and a tinge of annoyance swept through him. “And whose fault is that?”

The high vizier glanced about the decks as the sailors moved upon the decks. The crow’s nest was occupied and Usharad stood at the aft castle near the helm with the captain while the rowers amidships exerted themselves, but up on the forecastle, it was only Arash and his uncle. “Before you were born,” said Sahar, “life was not always easy for your father and I. There were times of great strife and uncertainty.”

Arash scratched at his chest. The shirt he wore now was itchy and of low quality cut. “So I am a sheltered prince because of his fear?”

“It is natural to hold on to that which you know you might lose.”

Arash made a dubious sound in his throat as he exhaled.

“Did you know the princess and I had a talk after you departed that night?”

“You did?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

He felt a great sense of curiosity and took a step closer to his uncle. “What did she say?”

“She said that she would return to Ashahnai—and that she would very much like to come to a prince more knowledgeable of the world.”

Arash squinted slightly. “I am not surprised she thinks me unsuited to be her husband.”

“She cares for you, Prince.” He seemed to realize something. “Did she truly come to you after you were bitten?”

“Yes,” said Arash. “And now that I think on it, how did she know I was in trouble?”

The old man smiled. “She did not know, Prince. She came to you in the night to speak with you.” His smile deepened.

“Stop that,” commanded Arash.

Sahar spread his hands. “Would that I was younger prince, and I would take her to be my bride.”

“You wish, old man.” The high vizier laughed, but Arash was not amused—in fact, he he was quite morose on anything humorous at this time. “I do not think that we should be laughing, Uncle.”

“Why ever not?” he asked. “’He who smiles shall weary the worst of times and be a man more contented after that of troubles times.’ The Venerable Book, Arash.”

She almost rolled his eyes. He had forgotten that his uncle was a religious man. And on that thought, he glanced down at the high vizier’s scimitar at his waist. He could barely believe his uncle had fought the way he had—surely he was the best fighter among them all on this sloop!

“It doesn’t even make sense, Uncle. I smile. You know this to be true. I am not unhappy.”

“Ah,” Sahar said as he raised a finger, “but you have to smile, even during the worst of times, my nephew.”

“The quote doesn’t say that!”

Sahar shrugged. “It is implied, my boy.”

Arash shook his head. He was not unreligious, surely not—his father being the Commander of the Faithful, what would it say for the prince to be a heathen. No, surely not. But the quite did not imply what his uncle seemed to think it did.

The high vizier did not argue. The prince was young, and young minds did not have the depth of understanding or even interest in these things. With age comes wisdom, and Arash has much wisdom—a think even the princess Tamu has seen.

“What is it uncle?”

“Hm?”

“You are looking at me with a strange smirk on your face.”

“Oh,” said he, “I am sorry, Arash. I was only thinking.”

One of the sailors called out and they both turned. “What is it?” asked Arash.

“A quay,” said Sahar. “Well, we can stock the ship for our journey—I just hope we have the money.”

“Are you enjoying yourself, Uncle?”

He shrugged and put up his palms. “What is not to enjoy, Prince? We are alive, the sun is shining”—he indicated the sun—“it is a beautiful morning, and… we are to go on an adventure such as the like has never been written of in the Epic Book.”

“Nonsense.”

“You will see, Prince,” said Sahar. “Now,” he added, his tone altogether changing. “Usharad will supply the ship, while we make camp up the river.”

“What—why?”

“If the assassins pursue us,” said Sahar, turning to Arash, “they will expect us to be on the ship—so we will go up river.”

“You say that like we’re playing a game of Kings and Pawns!”

“Why—what an excellent analogy, Prince!”

“Ugh!”

Then at length the sloop was docked and the Royal protector with some of their palace guards and others went ashore to procure supplies for their journey—a journey the prince knew not how long would last, though he wished to know.

As his uncle Sahar took him up the river with the remainder of their guards and servants, Prince Arash pestered him, but to no avail, for the high vizier was a learned man as could dissemble to great effect when concerning the prince.

The fires crackled as fish was put upon spits and cooked into a great stew over the fire. At this time Prince Arash sat atop a white rock while the physician Gulzar fussed over his wound.

“I am fine,” said Arash. “Leave me.”

And the prince said these things with a little amount of frustration. He wanted to speak to Sahar, to know what was in his mind. I am tired of being left out of the plot. Uncle, why are you so frustrating?

Bending and taking the ladle out of the soup, Sahar smelled the wonderful fish soup. Some of the servants were quite adept at catching river fish. “Ah,” he said, his mouth watering. “This smells amazing, Prince. I cannot wait to eat. All of our fighting as worked up my appetite.”

The prince rolled his eyes, though he could not deny that his hunger pangs were quite strong as his stomach growled with need. He sighed, leaving off of his worries and questions for the time being until after they were served and ate of the fish.

“It is a shame Usharad is not with us,” said Sahar. “He would have enjoyed this meal.”

Arash wondered how the meal had been flavored. Perhaps the galley inside the sloop had spices, but the ship was not large. There were hardly any places to sleep and during the night the prince had thrashed in his hammock frustrated as a chill took him.

At that time he knew the chill to have been brought on from the poison, but now this morning, even though he was bone weary and tired beyond all reckonings, he no longer had any chills or other negative effects belaboring him.

The prince breathed in deeply, glancing about for a spot of grass where he might lay down and take a nap in the sun, but the embankment was full of wet sand and large pebbles that prevented him from doing that.

“Uncle,” he finally said. “I wish to know what your plans are. Do not treat me as though I were a child.”

The high vizier looked to his nephew, his empty bowl in his hand. “We are to adventure among your father’s lands, Prince. Do you not wish to know your future empire, to understand the people of whom you will one day rule over, Prince?”

He thought about that for a moment, and that did make sense. And yet… What does this have to do with escaping assassins?

“Why are we not returning to the palace?”

“It is not safe, my prince.”

“When will it be safe?”

Sahar shrugged. “When news reaches us by the mouths of the people we meet in and among your father’s satrapies.”

“What?” Arash barked. “Uncle, how far do you intend to take me?”

“We go down the Urmia. Perhaps we will cut south to avoid the Abassir Empire, for it is ruled by an altogether different sultan who rebels against your father’s rule.”

“South to where?”

“Let us see where our journey takes us, Prince Arash. Do you not wish to return to the palace with the knowledge of your father’s empire that will surely impress Princess Tamu?”

Arash sighed. “Does she truly intend to return—to marry me?”

“Who can say,” said Sahar. “I believe she was sincere in what she told me, Prince.”

A runner came up the beach and joined them. “My lord—my prince.”

“What is it?” asked Sahar.

“Usharad has procured many supplies and provisions for our journey, but the food—he could not stock the holds as deeply as he wished. He says we must wait for a caravan that will arrive on the morrow.”

“Tomorrow?!”

Sahar smiled. “Very well. Go back and give the Royal Protector my message.”

The servant glanced toward Arash nervously. “Of course, high vizier.”

“Uncle, I have no clothes.”

He laughed. “You have the river, Prince. Do you need to wash something?”

Arash made a frustrated sound as he turned and glanced about. He saw the palace guards up on the rocks above the cliffs. Lookouts for any signs of those who would approach from the docks or the other surrounding areas.

Picking up a rock, the prince tossed it and it missed the water, through it rolled and knocked against the others on the wet shore.

“Is this how it is to me?” he asked. “We travel about, like the poor—hungry and dirty?”

“We will find our way, young prince, I assure you.” Then the high vizier called some of the servants over and told them to return to the ship, that they were to gather up the tents and to bring them to the river to pitch them up for the night.

Arash looked on with morose frustration while the physician made idle talk with the high vizier, who entertained him greatly. This entire situation is frustrating and unacceptable! I do not even know if my father and mother yet live.

“Uncle,” said Arash suddenly as he lurched off the rock. He stepped over the stones gingerly, though with haste. “I demand that you take me back to the palace. We have need to know if my father the sultan is alive, and that of my mother. I will wait here while you bring a skiff to get me.”

Sahar looked at him and laughed. He actually laughed!

“Show your prince his due respect, sir.”

“You forget,” he said, his smile having not faltered, “that I am also a prince.”

He blinked. “Yes, but I am my father’s son! Future ruler of the empire!”

“Not if you are dead, Prince.” He looked on at Arash with the greatest of patience and a demeanor meant to calm him, though it may have had the opposite effect. “I promised your father that I would protect you—to see that you marry well. The empire is in peril, young prince. That is why assassins have come to the palace.”

“Then we must strike out and destroy our enemies!” Arash yelled.

A moment passed as his uncle and the stupid physician just looked at him. “Are you well, nephew?”

Arash blinked, feeling light headed and dizzy. He groaned slightly. Perhaps he was still quite recovering from that poison.

“You are pale, my prince,” said Gulzar. “Please. Please sit. There.”

While Gulzar fussed over him, Arash started to feel better and some more time passed, though he did not move from the rock again.

Then Sahar called over some men, one of which Arash recognized as one of the many scribes from the army of penmen is father kept in the palace. He began to write everything down—everything.

Gods, this is annoying.

“Do not fret, my prince,” said Sahar. “We must keep records—for the Epic Book.”

“Do you truly believe our silly tales are worthy of the Great Book, uncle?” If even Princess Tamu had gotten a copy in the Sky Steppes, then the books were quite wide spread, and of a venerable enough nature as to warrant amazing stories.

“Yes,” said Sahar. “You are Arash Al Hamiroon, and these words will be a part of your adventures. Perhaps the princess Tamu will also enjoy of their reading—but, I believe she will much rather you speak of your adventures to her in person.”

He believed his journey would not be worth any of these pomp, and indeed, would more likely be remembered as a fit of pretention.

The very thought embarrassed Arash. This is foolish.

And yet his uncle persisted, cajoled and as time passed, the prince found himself writing upon a sheet of velum with black ink. He knew not what to say, felt that he had nothing to say well, but on Sahar’s insistence and promise that he would aid the prince, he wrote.

And then he lifted his pen as the stupid scribe stared a hole into his head. “What are you looking at?”

The scribe—Hamiz or other—flinched. “I am only observing, Prince.”

“Then observe from over there,” commanded Arash as he pointed a finger.

Sahar bent next to the water with his bowl. “Do not hamper Hamiz, young prince. He is here to pen our words.”

“I am not. He is too close! I can practically smell his breath, Uncle. And why should I have to write anything for the great book when he can simply do it for me?”

“Why should anyone pen their own tales?”

 

“Prince!” called Gulzar as the servants Harad and Yusuf trailed after him, “please—do not go far!”

He answered not as he stalked up toward the rocks in frustration, his thoughts racing and a subtle dizziness taking him, but he ignored it and found a grassy pass through the cliffs and rocks that lead up to where the sentries stood guard.

Breathing heavily—far heavier than he normally did—Arash went to the cliff’s edge and sat on the grass. He took in deep breaths until his blood calmed, and once he felt better, he glanced out across the horizon.

The sun was higher now, and quite hot, but he felt good as the cool breeze from over the river brushed past him. To his relative east, he could see the sloop and the quay. It is no wonder we have to wait until the morning—there is nothing but farms out here.

He turned some more, glancing in the direction of the Ancient City. Through the blue haze of the day, he could just barely make out the outline of the great palace as it climbed above the mountain overlooking the city.

From here the prince could see the turrets and minarets—the great domes. Is the empire truly so weak? Must I flee like a thief in the night?

A sadness and fear overtook him all at once. He feared for his parents, and yet, he knew that the empire was faltering. Perhaps he had never truly thought of it, but it was an understanding he knew deep within his soul.

Arash was a sheltered and spoiled young man, and most of his frustrations had come due to the discomforts of his sudden travels—his fear of being killed, and his fear for the lives of his parents.

And yet, his heart beat for the princess Tamu, at the excitement of a great journey that lay before him. If he was to one day be a great ruler, a strong ruler, then Arash must know the empire well. One cannot rule through ignorance—through the iron fist of a palace atop a mountain without any understanding of those who he rules over…

This was what Tamu wanted. A prince of whom could rule well, justly and honorable—to be a true Commander of the Faithful peoples of the Empire of Ashahnai. She was older than he, and not just in years, but in experience and wisdom.

Something about that made him want to rebel, and yet, also smile in great satisfaction, for his esteem of the princess was great.

I will show you. When you come back, I will be a different man. Wiser, and worthy of your love. You will want to marry me—to ruler over a great land at my wise and benevolent queen.

It will be hard. I will be in danger. My uncle will be in danger, but I will strive to succeed, to know my empire well and to live a story worthy of the Epic Sword and Sorcery Entertainments of Ashahnai—to bring about a new Golden Age.

At length, much time passed, and more of the company came to the camp there on the river below. Harad and Yusuf were diligent in carrying out Sahar’s orders to keep an eye on the prince, and yet they had remained respectful at kept themselves at a distance while he had time to be with his thoughts.

And finally, taking in a deep breath, he, the prince that is, went back to the camp, and shooing away Gulzar, who wished to fuss over him incessantly, Arash approached his uncle.

“Ah,” he said. “Have you had some time to reflect, young prince?”

Normally Arash would become incensed at such a condescending question. But he knew that Sahar meant not to be that way. He cared deeply for Arash, for his father and mother, and for that of the empire.

He was a greatly patient man.

And still, a tinge of annoyance struck Arash, like a slap in the face. He tightened his jaw and persevered to be a better man than he was. “Yes,” he said, “I have uncle—and I have had a thought.”

“Yes?”

Swallowing, he said, “I wish to go on this journey with you, Uncle.”

“Good,” he said, his face and tone altogether friendly. “I am glad for it, prince.”

“And…” he said.

“Yes?”

“I wish to pen my—our tale—into the Epic.”

Sahar’s smile deepened as he nodded. “And you shall, my prince. You shall.”