by James Ponti
“Because Garsiv’s head-on attack will be a massacre,” Dastan explained.
Bis thought about this for a moment. He knew that Dastan meant what he said. But he also knew of the rivalry between the two brothers.
“You sure that’s the only reason?” Bis asked.
Dastan gave Bis a look that clearly said, “no more questions.” Then, before Bis could argue, Dastan set the rest of his plan into motion.
Under cover of night, Dastan and his men disabled most of Alamut’s walled defenses. By morning’s first light, Dastan’s company had control of the city gate.
Dastan opened it and waved a signal torch toward the army above. They had been completely unaware of the raid.
From his tent, Tus heard the rush of men racing into battle. Hurrying out, he looked toward Alamut.
“He’s gotten in,” Tus announced to his captains. “Redeploy to the eastern gate.”
The officers hurried off to lead their companies as Garsiv slammed an angry fist against the table. The honor of first blood would not be his. The battle was already under way, and there was nothing he could do to change that.
Following his brother outside, he rode to war.
Chapter Three
For more than a thousand years, the walls that surrounded the city of Alamut had repelled all invaders. But it had never faced a rival as powerful as Persia. From the moment Princess Tamina, the famed beauty who—for the most part—ruled the city, saw the massive army encamped beyond its walls, she knew it was unlikely Alamut could withstand this next attack.
So, while Dastan was leading his secret raid into the city, Tamina was conferring with the Council of Elders in Alamut’s High Temple. When word of the raid reached her, she was deep in prayer.
“The Persians have breached the eastern gate!” a soldier exclaimed as he burst into the temple’s sanctuary.
The council members were stunned. The princess, though, knew exactly what to do.
“Collapse the passages to the chamber,” she calmly instructed the soldier, who ran out of the room to relay her orders.
“Go now, all of you,” she told the council members, sending them off to brace for battle.
Soon, the only one left in the room was Asoka. Although he was the strongest, most courageous warrior in all of Alamut, Asoka would not be fighting in the battle. He had a far more important duty to perform. He stood quietly as the princess kneeled down and pressed her forehead to the floor.
As she began reciting a prayer, a tremor rumbled through the temple. Soon, a radiant glow appeared from within the column before her as it opened to reveal a hidden room.
Tamina rose and entered the room. Inside, she wrapped an unseen object in an embroidered cloth. With fear in her eyes, she gave the object to Asoka.
“You know what to do,” she told him.
Asoka nodded and repeated the orders that had been assigned to him long before: “Above all else, it must be kept safe.”
Asoka raced from the temple into a chaotic city. The fighting raged in every direction, although it was more of a rout than a battle.
Alamut had always relied on the walls that surrounded the city for its defense. But Dastan had rendered those meaningless. With the Persian army now inside the city, its superior numbers made it invincible.
There was no time to waste. Asoka sprinted through tunnels and courtyards and slipped in and out of alleys. He made it to the royal stable and quickly mounted an armored stallion. Safely astride, he ducked into an alleyway and was close to freedom. But something blocked his escape—Prince Dastan.
Quickly, Dastan drew his sword while Asoka drew his scimitar. The sound of metal hitting metal filled the narrow alleyway. As Asoka was still on horseback, he had a distinct advantage. Glancing around, Dastan looked for a way to get the upper hand. Then his eyes narrowed.
With amazing skill and speed, he ran up a portion of the wall and leaped onto Asoka’s back, pulling him off the stallion.
They quickly began a death-defying sword fight. They twisted and turned, battling back and forth—the best of Alamut and the best of Persia. The fight was close, but then Dastan wounded Asoka, knocking him to the ground.
The bundle Asoka had been carrying skittered across the ground. The warrior reached for it, but Dastan was quicker.
Picking it up, Dastan unwrapped the cloth to reveal a jeweled dagger. It had a glass handle filled with sand that seemed to glow. He smiled and slid the weapon into his belt as a trophy of his victory and continued toward the palace, leaving Asoka behind.
Chapter Four
The king’s army was in full control of Alamut. And just as Tus had predicted, the three princes now marched together into the palace to confront Princess Tamina.
They found her in the High Temple, her back to them. Despite the chaos around her, the princess remained regal. She chanted a prayer, not acknowledging the sound of footsteps until Garsiv stepped forward, knocking over an incense burner.
“Silly songs and scented smoke will do little for you now,” Garsiv growled.
Lightning quick, Tamina turned, a knife now in her hand. Lunging, she was about to use it on Garsiv when her wrist was caught by Nizam.
“Perhaps there’s a bit more to her than that,” Nizam warned his nephew.
Tus approached and used the blade of his sword to carefully move the veil that covered her face. She was in fact more beautiful than they had imagined.
“For once the stories are true,” Tus said.
Just then Dastan entered, still catching his breath from his battle with the Alamutian warrior. Seeing Tamina, he stopped in his tracks, struck speechless by her beauty.
Nizam, however, had no trouble raising his voice.
“We know you secretly build weapons for enemies of Persia,” he accused.
“We have no secret forges here,” Tamina replied defiantly. “What weapons we have, you overcame.”
“Our spies say differently,” snarled Garsiv. “Much pain can be spared if you—”
She cut him off: “All the pain in the world won’t help you find something that doesn’t exist.”
For a moment, the room was silent.
“Spoken like one wise enough to consider a political solution,” Tus finally said, seizing an opportunity. He held his hand out to her. “Join hands with Persia’s future king.”
“I’ll die first,” Tamina replied simply.
Embarrassed and enraged, Tus barked back at her, “Yes you will!”
The prince motioned to his bodyguard, who pulled a sword and pressed it against Tamina’s neck.
Dastan instinctively made a move to protect her. When he reached for his new weapon, the princess saw the Dagger. With a stab of pain, she realized that Asoka had not been able to get it out of the city.
“Wait,” she cried. Tus raised an eyebrow. “Swear to me the people of Alamut will be treated with mercy.”
Tus rolled his prayer beads between his fingers while he considered this. Then he smiled and motioned to the guard to remove his sword. This time, when he held out his hand, Tamina took it.
From his spot in the room, Dastan felt an odd pang. The cost of taking Alamut was proving high—in many ways.
Later that day, Dastan and Bis made their way through the temporary camp the Persians had set up in Alamut. War horses stood beside tents that served as places to tend to the wounded. As they walked, soldiers called out praises and slapped Dastan on the back. He smiled, trading jokes and remarks. Suddenly, a voice stopped him. Turning, he saw Tus.
“They’re calling you the Lion of Persia,” the crown prince said. “You’ve never excelled at following orders.”
Dastan nodded. “Tus, I have some explaining to do.”
Tus broke into a big smile. “No,” he answered with a laugh as he put his arm around his little brother. “We have some celebrating to do.”
Dastan smiled, relieved. He had stolen the honor of making the first assault from Garsiv, but he had been forgiven. At least by Tu
s. He was certain Garsiv would not be so generous.
“There is however, tradition,” the crown prince reminded him. “Since you took the honor of first assault, you owe me a gift of homage.”
Tus motioned to the jeweled Dagger in Dastan’s belt. Shrugging, he went to give it to him, but they were interrupted by their uncle.
“He delivered you the city and its princess,” Nizam reminded Tus. “I think that’s homage enough.”
Tus looked at the Dagger, considering its worth. “I suppose it is,” he said graciously.
Dastan flashed his uncle a grateful smile and slid the weapon back into his belt.
“First dispatches just arrived,” Nizam informed them. “Wonderful news. Your father has interrupted his prayers at the eastern palace to join us. He’ll be here before tomorrow’s sun sets.”
Chapter Five
The three princes of Persia stood in the palace courtyard, obediently waiting for their father’s arrival. They were certain he would be proud of their capture of Alamut. But when the king rode up on his stallion Aksh, he looked anything but proud.
Sharaman dismounted and stormed past his sons without even speaking.
Tus eyed Garsiv and Dastan. This was not good. Sighing, he followed his father inside.
“Do you forget whose army you lead?” Sharaman bellowed, when his eldest son stood before him.
Tus’s fingers nervously ran up and down his prayer beads. “I was deliberate in my decision,” he explained. “As you’ve always counseled.”
“I don’t recall counseling you to disobey my orders!”
Tus bit back a retort. His father wanted him to become a leader but rarely let him actually lead. “Father, you give me little ground to tread,” he said.
“You have ground to tread,” Sharaman replied, “not trample !”
“We had indications Alamut was arming our enemies,” the crown prince responded.
“You better have more than indications to occupy a holy city with my troops,” the king snapped. “This adventure won’t sit with our allies! But I suppose you didn’t take that into account.”
Tus couldn’t believe it. He had been so certain his decision to attack was the right one. Now he was beginning to doubt it. He turned to Nizam.
“Don’t look to your uncle, boy!” Sharaman admonished his son.
“The decision and its consequences rest with me,” Tus said. Then, knowing it was the only way he would regain his father’s trust, he added, “I will oversee the search for the weapons myself. I vow I will not stand before you until I hold proof of Alamut’s treachery.”
Holding his head high, he turned and strode out of the room.
Once his nephew had left, Nizam walked over to his brother and tried to calm him.
“He’s eager to know the weight of the crown he’ll one day wear,” Nizam said.
“You don’t know the weight of the crown he’ll one day wear,” Sharaman reminded him.
Nizam bit his lip so as not to respond. They were brothers, but they would never be equals. First as the crown prince and then as the king, Sharaman was always Nizam’s superior. But he had long ago learned to mask such feelings. His role was to serve his brother, and nothing would change that. So Nizam moved on to a new subject.
“I’ve arranged a banquet in your honor,” Nizam said. “Your sons and subjects are anxious to see you.”
The king’s anger began to fade a little. In its place was the exhaustion that came with such heavy burdens. Perhaps a celebration in his honor would improve his mood.
“I’ll be expected to smile at this banquet I suppose?” he asked.
Nizam laughed. “And drink a bit.”
Sharaman returned the smile. Then, once again, he grew thoughtful.
“Dastan?” he asked Nizam. “He attacked without permission?”
Nizam smiled. “A bit of inspired insubordination.”
Sharaman considered this and nodded as he looked out over Alamut. He could not go back in time and change history. Whether he wanted it or not, this holy city was now part of his empire. And the boy he had plucked from the streets of Nasaf was now being called the Lion of Persia.
At that moment, the Lion was very much enjoying his victory. In a palace courtyard, Dastan and his men were partaking of their own form of relaxation.
Roham, the big soldier Dastan had been fighting not too long ago, stood against a wall. Dastan stood in front of him, a goblet in his hand.
Dastan eyed the man. Then the wall. He took a swig of his drink and then he raced—right at the wall. Leaping, he ran ON the wall—he took one step . . . then CRASH! He fell to the ground while his men burst into laughter.
“The third step is the hardest,” he said, smiling.
“I didn’t see you get to the second,” a teasing voice said.
Looking up, Dastan saw his brother Tus. Dismounting his horse, Tus leaned down and offered a hand.
“We’ve uncovered signs of tunnels on the eastern edge of the city,” Tus told Dastan as the younger one brushed himself off. “I’m on my way there now.”
Dastan looked surprised. “You’ll miss the banquet?” he asked.
Tus nodded. Garsiv and Dastan could handle the festivities in his absence. But there was one thing he had to take care of first.
“You do have a gift to honor our father with?” Tus asked.
Suddenly Dastan’s eyes filled with panic. How could he have forgotten? It was tradition!
Tus laughed. “I knew you’d forget,” he said, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He signaled a servant who handed Dastan a wrapped package.
“The prayer robe of Alamut’s regent, the holiest in the Eastern lands,” Tus said. “A gift the king will appreciate. You fought like a champion for me,” Tus added. “I’m glad to return the favor.”
Tus stopped, his eyes going to somewhere beyond Dastan. He motioned to a walkway behind his brother. Turning, Dastan saw Princess Tamina being escorted by Persian guards and servants.
“A rare jewel, but Father’s a hard judge of wives,” Tus said softly. “Present her to the king for me tonight, Dastan.”
“Of course,” Dastan replied, happy to help his brother.
Tus climbed back up on his horse, but leaned down to tell Dastan one more thing.
“My marriage to the princess will assure the loyalty of the people of Alamut,” Tus told him. “If Father doesn’t approve our union, I want you to end her life with your own hand.”
Dastan was surprised at this request. He didn’t know what to say.
“Someday I will be king, Dastan,” Tus went on. “When I am, I will need to trust you, know you will obey my rule.” He looked hard into his brother’s eyes. “Can I count on you to do this for me?”
Dastan replied—with the slightest of nods.
Princess Tamina stood in her chamber as Persian servants prepared her for her presentation to the king. One of them scrubbed her feet while another dressed her in the ornate Persian style. In her own palace, Tamina now felt like a stranger.
At that moment, Dastan strode into the chamber. He had cleaned himself up and was now dressed for the banquet, the Dagger still proudly displayed in his belt.
“I’m to present you to the king, Your Highness,” he said formally.
“So I’m escorted by Prince Dastan, the Lion of Persia,” she scoffed as she strode past him toward the door. “Must feel wonderful winning such acclaim for destroying an innocent city.”
He started after her.
“Then again, you are a prince of Persia,” she continued. “Senseless and brutal.”
“A pleasure to meet you, too, Princess,” he replied, catching up to her and matching his steps to hers. “And allow me to offer that if punishing enemies of my king is a crime, it’s one I’ll gladly repeat.”
Tamina shook her head in frustration. “And he’s thickheaded as well.”
After a few more moments in angry silence, they reached the door that led to the great hall. Da
stan leaned close to her, blocking her path. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you know me, Princess,” he bristled.
“Oh,” she said, eyeing him. “And what more is there?”
Dastan did not reply. Instead he turned to the massive Roham, who was standing at the door. “Wait here with Her Highness,” Dastan instructed him.
Dastan started to walk away, but before he did, he turned back to Tamina.
“If you can manage it, I suggest a hint of humility when you’re presented to the king,” he told her. “For your own good.”
Chapter Six
The banquet held in the king’s honor was a glorious affair. There was food and music and spirited dancing. Dastan watched as his father went through the motions, laughing and partaking in the jovial atmosphere.
“You’ve cooled Father’s anger,” Dastan told his uncle when Nizam appeared beside him.
Nizam nodded. “One day you’ll have the pleasure of being brother to the king,” he told him. “So long as you remember your most important duty, you’ll do well.”
Dastan smiled. “And what’s that, Uncle?”
Nizam gestured for a servant to refill Sharaman’s glass. “Making sure his wineglass stays full.”
Dastan laughed, but noticed that Nizam did not. In fact, Nizam’s voice had a hard edge to it. Before Dastan could think much about it, Sharaman raised his hand to silence the crowd.
“I’m told another of my sons has joined the ranks of great Persian warriors,” he announced.
The people applauded as Dastan stepped forward and kneeled before the king.
Sharaman took Dastan by the face. “We missed you, Father,” Dastan told him, his voice soft, the moment between just the two of them.
“I was praying for you and your brothers, Dastan,” Sharaman replied. “Family—the bond between brothers—is the sword that defends our empire. I pray that sword remains strong.”
Dastan cast his eyes downward. His father had clearly heard about him disobeying Tus’s order.
“I understand, Father,” Dastan said. “I thought my actions would spare our men unnecessary losses.”
