- ARCHIVE - Sultanate Court of the Zayyanid Caliphate [Algeria]

[Blade!]

Zayyanid Imperial Galley, en route to Al-Jazir from Cairo


The various courtiers and sailors who happened to be on deck slowly stopped what they were doing and watched the funny spectacle taking place. A Reverend Sister few recognized, had escorted a well though foreign dressed man in front of the throne. The woman spoke to the Sultan in Berber, a language many recognized but only a few spoke; it made some uncomfortable. The man then began prostrating himself on the deck and saying things in a strange tongue, and revealing jewels. Jasmine-i-Tlemscen, the Reverend Sister, had begin translating in Arabic, as Berber was ill suited for literal interpretation, and thusly court then heard what the man was saying.

Akbe was at first amused by the man, but as it became more clear that he was the bearer of serious good will and tiding, he smiled openly, and stood himself as the man did.

Jasmine increased the speed of her translation, and placed her hand on Latcu's arm as he stood, to arrest his speech and action as she caught up. She thought that the man's words were well chosen, and she only smoothed them minimally. She took a deep breath, and began to speak in Vlach as the Sultan responded.

"No need for apology, envoy of Princess-Regent Maia Litovoi, spekaing for Petru II... it is enough that you have traveled far from your mountain nation, and across the sea. I must thank my cousin, for her service."

Akbe dipped his head and both Latcu and Jasmine, before stepping towards the Moldavian's outstretched arms, and again dipped his head to accept the corded medal, while simultaneously accepting the ruby-topped golden crecent from Jasmine with his hand. Standing back up he lifted the crecent and allowed the ruby to catch the light.

"From the Doge's palaces... I see. Had I been bolder, I should have given tru aid with my arm... I see that I probably should have. Yet it is my merchants and the good will of the Sunahia Reverend Sisters that should be thanked with this medal... though I must say, I am..."

Jasmine searched for the right word but failing to find an exact translation used a more feminine word.

"...touched... by this honor. The Order of Moldu'c... the first not of your people?"

The Sultan turned to Jasmine directly.

"Cousin... your work must truly be holy, I will speak thusly to my uncle about the pride he should feel... I am at a loss for words, these are the people who have saved the Drobudjans? Indeed they are part of Allah's plan of harmony. Know that you have a boon if you wish it."

Jasmine nodded her head deeply to the Sultan, who turned back to the Vlach man and spoke.

"We are truly blessed by my cousin's work. I do not know what the Vlach know of her work... you siad their was a previous Muslim to recieve this? In any case, her school promotes the unity of all of God's peoples... and so together we shall stand, as I see you have honored me, Orthodox and Muslim... Moldavia shall be so honored when I can dispatch a ship. As for accepting you... I know not of Moldavia, nor of the Vlach, but your people, on the testamant of my cousin, and by the deeds of your leaders, are welcome. You as the envoy of your lord will be honored. You said.. Petru II? This sounds familiar to me. Is it also a Russian name, my retainer fought with such a named lord in the icy north against Lithuanians... he said he was a wolf...."

Akbe looked back at the medallion and its wolf depiction. It pleased him greatly, and suddenly he felt cheered by the goodwill... finally, one good turn of stecraft was returned in kind.

Azim stepped forward and placed his hands on the man's shoulders, kissing each of his cheeks.

 

[Brian Bóruma]

A man arrives with news from Marrakesh

"To my Zayyanid neighbor;

You are claiming that I am not expected to protect Fes, and then you state that we must stick together. I do not intend to be conquered by the Infidels of al-Andalus, as it seems they are too busy fighting eachother to launch a crusade in the Maghrib. I will never acknowledge the usurpers of Fes as legitimate. I would love to continue in an exchange of letters with you, but I am now going to the great city of Astrakhan to explore other diplomatic options.

-Yusuf al-Muwahhid
Sultan of the Moors"​

 

[Mettermrck]

Eastern Roof Garden and Fountain

Tomas noticed how quiet the Amira had remained upon hearing the messages from the courts in Fez and Morocco and leaned forward again to whisper in her ear. ”Astrakhan? Strange bedfellows indeed when Morocco feels reassured by Mongols. But Morocco is only a small part of the African landscape, Your Radiance. And it never hurts one to know when to indulge patience...and when not to.” He flushed a little as he said this last, pulling away from her, and resuming his place at her side. Tomas paused for a moment, and then resumed speaking, a little louder and casually. ”I recall the Sultan has a summer palace in the hills south of Tlemcen, does he not? Not far from the foothills through which the caravan road runs,” he said casually, sipping his wine, and giving her a meaningful look as he said this.

 

[AugCaesar]

Alonso maintained his cold, distant glance as he listened to Jasmine, and with an obeying nod answered,

"I am your prisoner, indeed I did walk in to becoming so with no naivety of the consequences, I must profess gratitude to find myself before so enlightened and glorious a one as yourself who would deign me with the grace of her illustrious ear."

The Christian knight paused for a bit, thinking of his next words then continued,

"There is a new ruler in Castile, Enrique, he is young, and thirsty for knowledge and wisdom of the world. He has spent much of his life away from the court of his father, and does not bear the enmities of many of my countrymen, he sent me solely on a mission of knowledge, for he seeks a greater understanding of the faith which his people have for so long called the enemy." He sighed, then continued on, "But I will not speak false, I was not sent to profess an untrue love and devotion for the moors of Algiers, and the Caliphate I am here to act as a neutral instrument to my Lord, that I may return to Valladolid and bring to his majesty many books, scritpures, and wisdoms of your prophet Mohammed."

Alonso paused and looked directly into Jasmine's eyes, his dark clear pupils showing confidence and deference for the woman across from him. "I come as such, a seeker of knowledge, and humble messenger of my King."

 

[Blade!]

Eastern Roof Garden and Fountain

Yasmine regarded Tomas carefully, and smiled at his words.

"Why yes... it seems now that Morocco is blocking Fez from traveling south by its roads, we shall be having more guests at the "Winter palace"... Winter Tomas, not Summer, you have reversed your seasonal adjectives!"

Yasmine smiled at Tomas warmly, her disturbed meal slightly alleviated. Across the table from Tomas, Kadija stuck out a single finger from her robe and pointed it at Tomas, as if to tell him somthing, but she said nothing.

Yasmine's eyes turned back to the Castelleon as he spoke. Sitting next to her, Tomas of Portugal, noted her hand clenched tightly on the edge of the table, and a slight hint of the uncharacteristic anger he had witnessed in The Wind Room long ago. Across the table, Kadija had placed her hand and her long sharp kafiya on the table, her black lined eyes narrowed and peaking from her robes.

"You mistake your position Crusader. You are under no arrest. These guards who have taken you are of my brother's own guard, had they not taken you, undoubtedly you would not be here, nor would he ever have knowledge of your existance. The guards are to clever by far in fact, because now that you have been brought before all these witnesses, even if I wanted to keep your existance silent from my brother... I now could not.

It is also the misfortune of some, that you speak eloquntly, and have used the words that would undoubtedly turn my brother's heart warmly towards you despite... where you hail from. Undoubtedly, there are those in this room who will judge me ill for allowing you no harm, and undoubtedly my brother included, those who would wish me harm for sinning in the eyes of God and your words by allowing you harm.

Obviously, your young Amir Enrique will find you have met your mission with great sucess... at least so far. In fact, you will find some here, who will offer you great congratulations. I will, at the least, advise you to stay near those men guarding you... easily done, since we already have a whole tower blocked off for the Castille Tribe."

The Amira again turned to the Fezian envoy and then to Tomas of Badajoz, purposely avoiding the counsel of any of her courtiers, especially Kadija, whose blade had left its sheath.

"Unless of course, the counsel of these other foreigners will sway me one way or another, before I am ready to speak to you of Granada, and other rectifications."

People noted Kadija stand and look at Yasmine for some seconds, locking eyes with her, before sheathing her kafiya and speaking.

"I leave now Yasmine, I go to rallly the Zenata... but before I go I have need of the Naib-i-Cordoba. Send him to me within the hour."

The First Companion, Kadija, briefly locked eyes with Tomas, then turned, storming towards the cooridor that led away from the feast.

 

[Mettermrck]

Eastern Roof and Garden

Tomas sat up a little as he listened to Yasmine address the Castilian envoys. She was quite correct, indeed. The fact that they had made it to audience at all and were being permitted to speak was proof of honorable intention, though Tomas knew that from an Iberian perspective, such actions were highly suspicious. But his mindset was somewhat clouded on the issue, as he was not so sure he was grateful that they had made it this far. He simply could not shake the deep rooted anger at those who would see him dead...those who no doubt hailed from Iberia. He turned casually, glancing at those nearby and spotted the Lady Kadija gesturing towards him – very subtly. Her finger, hardly noticeable, was pointing towards him...it was, wasn’t it? She had a tougher line on foreigners he knew, particularly Christians, and although he was barely converted from that faith, it was a stance he was coming to view with no small approval as events pushed him in that direction – events such as assassination. He stifled a grin as her blade appeared, impressed at her boldness. Tomas found he could understand how she must feel. Not sure if she was staring in his direction, he made sure that his eyes conveyed a measure of respect in case she did.

He continued to listen to the Amira’s speech, though with a mixture of detachment. Naturally Yasmine had to be diplomatic about these things, and while Tomas would do anything for her, in matters such as these, he realized he would have to seek guidance elsewhere. And when Kadija stood and sent for him as she left the room, it reinforced that belief. He turned to the Amira, feigning honored surprise. ”Well then, Your Radiance. With your leave, of course, I shall attend to the Lady Kadija?” He waited for her permission before exiting the room and going to where the Lady Kadija would be receiving him.

 

[Blade!]

Eastern Roof Garden and Fountain

”Well then, Your Radiance. With your leave, of course, I shall attend to the Lady Kadija?”

Yasmine turned from giving Kadija's backside a hard and cold stare, and gave Tomas a long silent look, before again looking at the Castelleon.

"If you have nothing to say to this man.. this...

Castelleon, do you have a name, or shall I just call you Crusader... ?"

A strange look came over Yasmine, and a quirky grin spilled over her red lips as she began to giggle slightly to herself.

"...that would get old wouldn't it and no doubt annoying... ha ha..."

As if shaking somthing off she again grew solemn, and turned to Tomas with a nod of approval for his departure.

 

[Mettermrck]

Eastern Roof and Garden

Tomas looked at Yasmine for a moment, cocking his head briefly at her words before smiling in commiseration. ”Well, Your Radiance, such words that I have for....Crusader....would lend little to your wisdom.” He grinned a little at his choice of address. ”If this envoy is truly forthright and wishes to learn of our faith, then indulge him. Load him down with the scripture, the interpretations, and the teachers to explain it. If their heart is true, then you will know.” He smiled and nodded as he said this. With a reluctant and humble bow, Tomas backed away and stood up. ”Until the fates next permit me the honor of being in your presence, Your Radiance.” And Tomas turned and left the room, walking down the hall and making his way to where he remembered Lady Kadija was receiving.”

 

[Blade!]

The Grotto, Tlemscen Citadel

Tomas traveled quite a ways further into the actual base of the great natural rock foundation that the Citadel was founded upon then he had ever done before. As he had left the banquet, two of his guards had joined him, and his guard Alladin brought the two 'servants' in tow not knowing what else to do, since Halud Hasan was also following Tomas.

The Naib's retuine, aside from Halud, also seemed interested in their surrounding as if they had never been here. Passages carved out of rock and lit with distantly spaced torches, led Tomas past great storerooms, a great bath, and many many rooms filed with beds and kitchens but obviously unused. After some time, in which they had been decending steadily, fewer passages crossed their paths, and fewer rooms seemed to be carved, though there were a few half chiseled and long forgotten. Halud happily bound forward in the ever dimmer stone passages until they came to a very sharp stairway that led down into blackness.

The guards took up torches from apile near the stair's entrance and lit them with a nearby ensconched flame. The party traveled down the surprising wide stairs, and were even surprised twice by men walking up the other direction, robed heavily in desert style. The men said nothing, only muttering brief Berber phrases to Halud who was in the lead, who mumbled back amicably enough.

Eventualy, Tomas began to note that his eyes were re-adjusting and natural light was coming from somewhere below. He had been traveling for maybe some 15 minutes downwards, and now passing several portculli he emerged in a most wonderous grotto at the bottom of the Citadel Tlemscen's mountain foundation. There was a small stream emenating from further back in the large airy grotto, formed by milenia of water erosion. Within were maybe a score of people spread out tending camels, or sprawled before small campfires, a few young boys practicing with scimitars. Prayer rugs dominated one end of the Grotto which Tomas surmised faced Mecca. The people were all dressed in desert style, most in what Tomas had come to recognize as the red and green trimmings of the Zenata tribe, but not all.

Tomas also recognized that a good portion of the huge grotto was stalled off with many camels, maybe 3 or 4 score. Within that areas was Ali A'ku who was examining the feet of black camels. Near the center of the people, Kadija sat on a rock, with rugs and tribespeople spread out around her. She had her gaze fixed on Tomas already. She waved her arm beckoning him to come towards her, and another robed woman placed a pillow for Tomas. Halud Hasan looked at Kadija, and then ran off to talk to some of the young men practicing their scimitar work.

 

[Mettermrck]

The Grotto, Tlemcen Citadel

From the moment he left the room, Tomas could tell he was being guided, and subtly led downward, which immediately ruled out most of the places he thought the Lady Kadija would be. It was no surprise to him that two particular guards of his had appeared in front of him, who happened to be Kadija’s personal choices for his retinue and who, he knew very well, were her informants on his staff. As the palace hallways gave way to basement and then to sheer rock, Tomas found his curiosity brought forth and also a small hint of nervousness, as he wondered just what this entailed. His eyes flickered back and forth, taking in the natural rock formations beneath the citadel, the various people they encountered in the passageways, and the eerie reflections of their torches as they slowly descended deeper and deeper below.

His sharp eyes noted that Hasan seemed familiar with their surroundings and that several passerbys seemed to know him. Curious, Tomas thought, as they walked down a set of wide stairs. It was all intriguing and ominous at the same time and he couldn’t help but wonder what it all boded. Why did Kadija want to see him all the way down here? At last, the darkness slowly gave way as light appeared and they slowly entered an enchanting room filled with a grotto. Tomas, briefly forgetting why he was there, soaked in the scenery for a moment, observing the rushing water down the stream, the dancing lights of the water playing off his face as he stood there with his retinue.

Then, with a nudge from Hasan, he turned and noticed the inhabitants of the cavern – a tribe?!? With no small surprise, he edged forward, following his guards towards where he now saw Kadija sitting on a rock. Hasan bounded off and Tomas knew that this was no time for humor. As he observed the lady, he observed someone else sitting near her, someone who appeared vaguely familiar though it was hard to place him. Kadija combined a serene regality with a coiled strength that he could see would be unleashed at a moment’s notice. From what he had observed of her, she was pious, loyal, and loving to those close to her. Right now, her expression was unreadable. He bowed respectfully, meeting her eyes briefly and awaiting her permission before taking a seat on the pillow. If you do this right, Tomas...

 

[N Katsyev]

The Grotto​

​

Vseslav had always been an able man when it came to reading another, at least in some respects. As Boris and himself were led further down into the dark passages beneath the great citadel he read on Tomas, "master's" face puzzlement. Master, a man who seemed in all other respects to be familiar with this strange world - though a puzzle himself to Boris and Vseslav - now clearly did not know what lie ahead in this naturally anxious environment. This instilled in Boris and Vseslav a far more distinct actual fear than would have been ultimately natural.

Satanic cults, dragons - a head of one found in Novgorod not ten years ago after all, maybe even a mythical minotaur, who could tell what was in these most dread bowels of the very earth. To Russians, there was something understandably otherwordly about the inner reaches of the land. Many holy sites were buried away into mountains, into caves, the impregnable citadel and monastery of Kolana a very notable example of this. All other such places, not inhabited by the holy could only be assumed to be dens of darkness in all the literal, figuritive and spirtiual. Did God rest in the darkness that they now penetrated in this strange world, or did a terrible serpent? Strangely, upon reaching the "destination" - they were still not sure.

Master approached an alluring woman in both physical appearance and indescribable aura. Around them were beautiful blankets on the cold stone, many men and small boys playing with swords. An outer layer of hell itself? No, to Boris it was beautiful, the wonderous lights cast upon the cavern walls reflected upon the rushing stream, the exotic appearance of the inhabitants. To Vseslav, evil came in all forms. The two comrades however were only in the position to await their fate in silent servitude a doubled edged sword of blessing and curse. Comfort in resignation to the inevitble, torture in their inability to affect their own destiny.

 

[Blade!]

The Grotto, Tlemscen Citadel

As Tomas and party approached, the heavily robed form of Kadija stood, and waved her hands to those assembled around her. They all began to pack up their carpets and moved towards the line of camels that were being saddled for travel. A brazier was carried away but a kettle of rich sludgy coffee was left behind, and a small boy poured some out for Tomas and his party, guards and servants included.

"You have come just in time, I am leaving within a finger's breadth of the sun's path. We go to raise the tribes for a great meet and to send scouts into the far desert... into the east."

Kadija's eyes looked out across the desert, for the Grotto's generous open side was at the eastern edge of the Citadel's foundation, and the dwindiling sun cast its rays into the cavern, illuminating the roof, but blocked by large rocky outcroppings from reaching the cool floor or the camel pens. Her eyes shifted back to Tomas.

"The Amira does not see the danger that is clouding the horizon. Vultures circle when trouble is about... the smell of freshly polished steel is a tangy precursor to the more pungent taste of spilled blood."

Kadija again looked away, and then suddenly back to Tomas with an almost angry intensity.

"You are a man of words and courts... like the Arabs. You are more suited to their ways than the people of the desert. I think that you should depart tonight in secret. I think you should travel to Fez, and see that the nobles, the Ashraf, in power act, before they are acted upon with force. The Zayyanids will never attack a fellow Muslim... without overwhelming cause, even with overwhelming force. But why should I wait for our enemies to grow overwhelming force now that they have shown disdain for... our... Lord and their brothers."

Kadija stood, and walked towards a pale camel that was being held for her by two large tribesmen. Before mounting she turned again.

"You have been attacked by those who would return their backs on your brotherhood. Christians came up from Al-Jazir to punish you, despite that Islam reveres their Prophet, Isa. Had you known your brothers wished you ill, would you have let them strike first? No. One should never share a den with a viper. Those men who came for you were dealt just punishment by my will, should not those who betray the Throne not deserve likewise?"

She mounted the camel with little effort, and wheeled it, looking back at Tomas. Most of the people in desert dress, but not all, had mounted up and were filing out of the cave. Halud had rejoined Tomas's side, as his aquiantances had made ready to go.

"You are a man of courts and words. You should go."

 

[Mettermrck]

The Grotto, Tlemcen Citadel

Her words came out swiftly, in measured tones, as if wielded for effect. Kadija had clearly considered what she was going to say and it was clear that Tomas was intended to be part of whatever – intrigue – she was setting into motion within the palace. He concentrated on what she was saying as she spoke. See the nobles in power act before they were acted upon? He had an array of ideas as to what that meant, ranging from the difficult to the sinister. Yet, standing there, in the imposing grotto, the reflections of the pool playing off the walls, veiled tribesmen purposefully moving about, and the powerful and mysterious Lady Kadija eyeing him....no, judging him....the entire scene was sinister. He could feel a few hairs on his neck stand up.

As he stood there, he felt his control of the situation slipping. He was Yasmine’s champion and now Kadija’s pawn? She hadn’t even allowed him to speak, simply dictated her instructions and then moved to leave as if...as if....she expected his obedience. Damn her, his mouth tightened, as he stood there. His pride fought with expediency as he weighed his next step. And then he exhaled. Yes, indeed, he was a man of words and courts, the kind who preferred at least the illusion of participation in decisions. Tomas sighed. He knew his mind had been made up long ago, and where this path might take him. You should go, she told him. Just like that? He looked at Hasan for a moment and then back Lady Kadija. ”Yes, Your Ladyship. I will do as you instruct.” Waiting for her to depart, he turned to Hasan. ”Fez, hmm. As long as we give Ceuta a wide berth, we should be fine. I live it to you, Sharif, to procure our mounts. And perhaps we can try out this new camel of yours. And..” He turned and eyed their two servants who had been watching...yes, with keener eyes than usual. Spying or processing? Tomas intended to find out soon enough. ”We can take these two along. They seem adept at more than just physical labor. 'Could be useful. Yet perhaps you have some protection from the sun? I’d hate for you to lose your money so quickly simply because they baked to death.”

 

[Blade!]

The Grotto, Tlemscen Citadel

​

Kadija wheeled again and rode off.

"It is not an order... it is in all of our best interests! I hope a man of guile and the intricacies of politics will see that Fez should not wait for themselves to be assualted... the Zayyanids certainly will not see this, blinded by Sunahia thought."

Dust gathered on the plain as the riders crossed the dunes and into the deep desert; riding to spread the word that their liege by blood and word, had summoned them.

Halud Hasan began to hop up and down and pushed the two large pale men towards the stalls, where he intended to show them the rudiments of camel care, with the translation help of Alladin of course. They would have Stubborina ready for the Naib of Cordoba.

 

[Mettermrck]

A Little Mood Music (right-click and save-as)​

Tlemcen to Fez

If it were not for the presence of Hasan and some of the other trained Berbers, Tomas had little doubt that he would’ve become lost in the dunes of the Sahara desert long ago. The sand was an endless sea, brown where the waters of the Atlantic were blue, otherwise the same featureless nothingness upon these natives traveled with the same ease that Tomas’ own people sailed the waves of the oceans. It was an odd kinship that he could respect as their camels trundled along the hot desert sun on the evening of the fifth day since leaving Tlemcen late in the evening. Kadija’s words, though not an order according to her, had nevertheless prompted a hastily prepared journey out of the capital towards Fez, leaving only a note for the Amira that he was traveling westward to see to diplomatic affairs amongst the ‘junior’ states. Though technically true, he knew the mode of departure, the lack of a face to face goodbye, and Kadija’s involvement would mean some form of reckoning when he returned, something which nagged at the rear of his conscious, stored away in the file he was slowly adding to on things regarding Yasmine that were making him nervous. But this was in the future, and he had to keep in the here and now, for despite Hasan’s expertise, desert travel was still a hardy enterprise.

Working their way northwest, they skirted the edge of Oran, avoiding the port itself so as not to draw too much attention and stick close but not quite to the coastal roads, relying on Berber trails to get them through the Atlas foothills to work their way up the coast towards Fez. The journey was also an opportunity for Tomas to keep an eye on the foreign servants Hasan had procured, the red albinos. From time to time, as if to test them, Tomas would engage them in a snippet of conversation, sometimes in the little Greek he knew, occasionally using a Turkish phrase he had picked up while in Bursa, all trying to see how skilled they were in language. Other times, Tomas would hold conversations with Hasan in Greek, loud enough so that the two slaves could overhear, discussing matters of commerce and other affairs, to see if their Genoese – or Hasan said they were from north of the Cimmerian Bosporus – minds would react. He wasn’t sure how much of a impression he was making yet, however.

Finally, on the fifth night, Tomas rode his camel up next to Hasan’s. ”We should see the walls of Fez, yes? I’m not sure what affairs have been going on, but I suspect the Portuguese factor still remains. They got everything there. Salt, ivory, tons of fish. You’d better hold your nose, young Sharif. And Fez imports a huge quantity of timber from the north....from Pskov. But I’ll need to keep my distance in case I’m recognized. No, we’ll need to go to the palace first, though Her Ladyship hinted we’ll need to talk to nobles more than rulers.”

 

[N Katsyev]

Tlemcen to Fez - The Burning Steppe
The Tale of Boris and Vseslav - Part XIV​

​

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
Part XIII
​

There had in fact been no dragon, no serpent, no minotaur. The grotto opened out into a vast land. Into that vast land, after being reintroduced to the strange beast once more, they would soon travel.

This world around them was eerily familiar yet entirely alien. It stretched endlessly under and endless sky like the great steppe they so clearly now remembered during their journey south to Astrakhan. But where were the Cossacks? Indeed, there were cossacks here too, the "berbers" Boris had stored away in his memory. As the days passed Vseslav and himself were beginning to pick up the very basics of the tongue spoken around them.

Vseslav proved better able to read the meanings in what was said, Boris with more formal education was better able to translate and more importantly, transliterate. As had always been the case, this originally unlikely duo was working perfectly in teamwork. Their strenghts and weaknesses playing off each other in near perfect complimentary harmony. What helped even more than their own intuitive efforts were when the lighter skinned one, "Master" would speak in greek which Boris and Vseslav had learned to a working level. Not only during their servitude in Asia Minor, but as far back as their childhood in Russia in the church services which were still held mostly in greek or church slavonic.

Vseslav's hair which had been thinning before they even left Novgorod had over the previous years all but dissapeared. However here in the desert it only made the burning worse. Before they had left he had been able to convince Alladin for an extra cloth that he now wore wrapped about his skull. Boris' hair for that matter was becoming ever longer and shaggier, hanging haphhazardly about his now broad and red-tinted bronzed shoulders.

Squinting against the sun, Boris handed the reign he carried of Stubbornia to Vseslav. With a tattered bit of his old clothes he reached back and bound his hair, relieving some of the trapped heat on his shoulders. His legs were aching, and this sand was not of predictable consistency. Sometimes it would be hard and hospitable to walk on, other times loose and terribly exhausting. These latter places were the worst for another reason as well, a hot wind would blow over them from the south and whip and bite at their bodies with the grains in its all encompassing fingers.

Night fell on the fifth day and it was a most curious thing. On the very first night Boris and Vseslav had hoped for a nice relieving night. Instead they were struck with just how cold the desert could actually become. The warmth of the sand would still radiate up however and it helped to in a sense "cook" oneself by shifting position from time to time. By this time they were exhausted and just waiting to stop. Master road forward to the boy, speaking to him, both men Boris and Vseslav straining their ears to make out what was said.

And then there was a most terrible revelation. Home was missed terribly, but it was easier to bear if one did not bring it to thought, much less utterance. Neither Boris or Vseslav had done so for a long time now, "master" however, seriously crossed this taboo.

"...Pskov..."

Without a word, without a thought, without maybe for the first time smelling the breath of the camel hanging over their shoulders they exchanged a glance. "Master" had tried to speak to them a couple times yet, a few broken phrases of greek, a turkish word or two. However the lost look on his face when Boris or Vseslav would reply, gave them little confidence that they would soon be able to speak to him in anything but this new language. Boris however could not resist the great temptation this brought forth. He turned to "master" and for the first time in many years spoke russian to anyone but Vseslav, "я из пскове. - Ya eez Pskovye."

 

[Mettermrck]

Outskirts of Fez

Tomas turned suddenly and looked at one of the slaves...the one they called Bor-ees. Had he just said ‘Pskov’? Did that mean he understood Arabic or had he simply recognized that word, which couldn’t translate well into the language. He eyed the man for a moment, taking in his features, as if trying to judge him, and then his eyes flickered up and down, noting the tussled hair, the burnt skin and poor clothes and his features softened a little. Turning back to Hasan, he ordered the group to set off again, using the desert night to hopefully reach the city before the heat of the daytime returned again. As they did so, Tomas dropped back a little and found himself closer to the slave which had been spoken.

He said nothing at first, simply staring ahead, though in his mind, he was collecting all he knew about Pskov. Then he turned suddenly and spoke in Greek. ”You...know....Psykov....yes? trees?” And for the next several hours, he continued along this vein, asking questions in Greek, trying to see what the man knew, see if he could discern his background, and just what use he might be to Tomas. And just how clever he might be. ”people...Pskykov...red skin?” He knew he spoke with a horrid Greek accent, having studied it hastily in his youth, primarily to help fulfill his father’s stern requirements of education. Yet, he continued to struggle as the night passed, and soon there was an eerie light behind them and they could feel the warmth of the sun begin to heat them from behind. Just as Tomas began to worry about another hot day of travel, there was a cry from up ahead. ”We have arrived. It is the city of Fez!” With a grateful sigh, Tomas kicked his camel into a faster trot, and rode up to join Hasan and the forward guards to catch their first glimpse of the city.

 

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The sun beat down overhead as Sultan Abdul-Haqq entered the palace grounds, it was so green and lush, several beutiful flowers were growing and several slaves were tending to the gardens Prince Abdul-Halim was keeping a watchful eye. He looks to his adivsor Al'Karnattah and speaks "While I am gone to Tleclem you are incharge." The slaves were preparing the caravan for departure. the general of Fez's army General Qsar-s-Saghir rode up along with several soilders he spoke "Your personal guard is ready to depart." The sultan gets on his horse and the caravan begins to move.
As the palace gates opened the gap between the rich and poor became very obvious the streets of Fez were loud and dusty. The noise stopped as people pulled to the saids of the street to let their sultan pass. The sultan said nothing to the people, he did not need to. As they exited the city gate a trade expidition was leaving as well, the sultan called to their leader "Where are you heading" the leader of the party called back "Timbuktu."
***
The journy to Tleclem was rather uneventful. The sultan was impressed by the city it was a lot like the city of Fez but lacking the same charm The caravan made their way to the Tlemscem Citadel. The sultans courtiers were preparing drafts for the sultan. As the caravan entered the citadel the sultan spoke to his general "We have much to talk about​

 

[Blade!]

Tlemscen Citadel - Main Gates

The great galley, having made the long journey along the southern coast of the Mediterranean, vomited its royal passengers into the luxury and splendor of the Port of Al-Jazir. The Sharif of Al-Jazir held a great feast that lasted the night, and there was much rejoicing.

The following day the great retuine, somewhat smaller with the departure of most of the nobles who cared to live in the city of Al-Jazir rather than in the relative isolation of the Citadel Tlemscen to the south. Only the royal retuine, some relatives, and avvisors, as well as the 2nd and 3rd Compansions accompanied Sultan Akbe Mohammed back to the vast fortress Capitol. Upon arrival, there was again much rejoicing for, the Sultan had learned that his brother in faith and the Almohad Empire, the Sultan of Fez had arrived.

A great banquet was called to be had, with the Fezian Sultan as the Guest of Honor.

 

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A bruised and beaten Arab man wearing only a rag to cover his genitals enters into the court of the Caliphate of Algeria. He holds a basket covered with a cloth which is smeared in blood. Blood drips from the beaten man's hands as he hands a letter to the Caliphate of Algeria. He places the basket at the Caliph's feet and excuses himself away before he falls dead on the floor. The basket contains the head of the settlement leader in the small trade quarter established in Lagos by the Portuguese-Zayyanid Trade Partnership.

The letter reads:

"Thy men of your nation were scattered across the settlement, but they died bound together. The agreement of Reginald I is now officially in void. All the dead men that thou hast driven me to slay shall be sent to thy shores, shortly, to recieve a proper burial. Rest well ye Caliph knowing the blood of thy own countrymen is upon thy hands."​

[X] King João Garza I of Portugal​