In the Lands of the Faithful: BC Hotseat Story Thread

[phonicsmonkey]

The Caliph's son Az-Zahir sat astride his warhorse at the crest of a hill looking north at the mountains of the Kingdom of Georgia. The sun was setting in the west, casting a rosy light on the snowy peaks, which seemed to him to glisten as if they were capped with gold.

To his right, astride a fat pony, sat a hooded, slender figure - Kalil, son of his father's Vizier.

Az-Zahir turned to Kalil.

So my friend, will we have our wish? Will my father in his wisdom sanction this invasion of Georgia?

Kalil sighed, and shrugged.

Your father is a great man, and wise. But as you know there are those who say he has grown soft in his dotage, and over-friendly with the infidel kings of the region.

My father the Vizier has let it be known that he has been visited many times of late by the emissaries of Rome and Jerusalem. The generals are angered that the infidel has such influence over him...there are even rumours that he intends to return the captured territories of Syria to the Latins!

He looked up at Az-Zahir, meeting his gaze from neath his cowl with a firm and meaningful stare.

Indeed, there are many amongst the armies of the Caliphate that would gladly march into the lands of the infidel under the banner of the Prince Az-Zahir, even in defiance of the Caliph...they say the blood of the Prophet runs thicker in your veins, and that...

Az-Zahir's eyes flashed with anger.

Be careful in your words Kalil! I am still my father's son, although I am sometimes like of mind with you.

Kalil inclined his head as the Prince continued.

My father is a secretive man, and as deep as the ocean. He shares little of his thinking with me...but while I long for war against the infidel as much as anyone, and I do not understand many of his decisions, I must put my trust in him. I will not defy his orders to stay our march until word arrives from Baghdad.

Kalil nodded, and changed the subject.

And what of the Turk, great Prince?

The young Prince laughed and, wheeling his horse around and beginning to gallop back down the dusty track to the camp below, shouted out.

The Turk is a dead man!

[Askthepizzaguy]

A peasant man walks on the outskirts south of Damascus, with his camel following behind him. Both the peasant and the animal look exhausted.

A small pool of rainwater had collected last night in a sunken part of the stony road. The camel stops to drink, and is clearly quite thirsty. The man looks annoyed at the delay, but knows not to disturb his mount when he is drinking. He looks up and hears the sounds of hoofbeats against the stone road to the north. An entourage of men on horseback ride past him and his camel, not saying a word.

The peasant man resumes watching his friend drink the rainwater.

After several moments, the man looks up again and notices a group of men standing around him, and he immediately draws his sword.

"Oh, it's a bit late for that... isn't it, old man?" A harsh and ominous voice intoned. The peasant man looked started.

"You.... what are you doing here? Why aren't you on the Latin front?"

An arrow pierces his sword-bearing hand, and he drops his weapon, and down to his knees in pain.

"A better question might be, why aren't YOU on the Latin front?" the ominous voice replied.
Malik delivered a fierce kick to the face of the old man, shattering his jaw. "Another question might be... why did you order me to sign an alliance with the Armenians?" Malik took out his long, curved sword, and delivered a terrible blow to the man's other hand, leaving them both useless and bloodied. "Or how about; why did you order an alliance with the Georgians, who now bow in fear before the Caliphate?" Malik took his iron boot and delivered a swift downward kick to the solar plexus of the defeated man "Or why you bothered to sign an alliance with the distant Hindus?" Malik delivered another kick, this time to shatter the older man's ribs. "WHY did you sign an alliance with the Seljuks?" Another kick to the face of the crumpled man. "WHY DID YOU SIGN AN ALLIANCE WITH THE ROMANS????" A harsher kick to the face of the man. "WHY DID YOU SEND 15,000 GOLD TO THE CALIPH????" An even more vicious kick to the genitals of the man. "WHY DID YOU, FOOLISH AND STUPID OLD MAN, AGREE TO AN ALLIANCE WITH THE LATIN CRUSADERS WHO ARE OUR MOST HATED ENEMIES????"

Malik took his sword and impaled the man through the stomach.

"WHY DID YOU ORDER THE DISBANDING OF OUR GREAT ARMIES??? WHY DID YOU ABANDON OUR PEOPLE TO THE LATIN INVADERS, YOU SNIVELLING WRETCH???"

Malik twisted the sword, causing pain.

"And tell me why, dear Sultan, you decided to make a pilgrimage to Mecca in our most critical hour?"

Kaikosru attempted to speak, but the words could not come... he simply cried in pain.

"You will not be making any more mistakes, you stupid fool. Now die, defeated, once the greatest commander on the face of the earth, now simply a peasant without a country... and without a head."

Malik took an axe and seperated Kaikosru from his body.

[phonicsmonkey]

[Written with Zim, deguerra, Elite Ferret and barcamartin]

Az-Zahir rolled around on the back of his warhorse, his blindfold chafing his eyes after so many hours of wearing it. He was tired and irritable, and wanted nothing more than for this journey to end.

He could tell by the diminishing heat of the sun on his face that it was beginning to set, which meant they had been riding all day since they left the wild and unruly city at daybreak that morning and set off north into the mountains.

He knew his father, the Caliph An-Nasir, was still beside him as he could hear the clink of the Caliphial charger’s ceremonial gold livery as the great steed surefootedly negotiated what must be a narrow mountain trail. Judging by the quality of the echoes of the clopping horses’ hooves and shouts of the Ghulams, the path was hewn out of a cliff-face, with a sheer drop to the right.

Just as he began to imagine how it would feel to be thrown from his horse and fall, blind, into the abyss beside them, the procession halted, and the blindfold was removed.

Blinking in the bright sunlight, Az-Zahir was amazed to see they were at the open gates of a mighty stone fortress, carved from the mountainside and perched on an absurdly elevated spar overlooking a dusty valley below.

His father the Caliph clapped him on the back and chuckled, before dismounting and beckoning to him to follow him inside.

He was led to an austere chamber, and was left alone with his thoughts. His father had refused to tell him the purpose of this journey, saying only that 'a great secret must be revealed' and that Az-Zahir 'must learn the truth' in order that he could assist his father in some great task. He tried to remain calm and patient, but his curiosity was starting to get the better of him..

A few hours later after resting and taking some food and refreshment, Az-Zahir was led from his chamber by a ghulam boy, down a dark stone flight of stairs and to a set of carved wooden double-doors. The slave boy rapped three times and scurried away, leaving Az-Zahir alone in the gloom.

After a moment or two the doors creaked slowly open to reveal a cavernous chamber, lit with a single beam of orange dusken sunlight from a skylight in the high roof. The beam of light cast directly onto a large, circular stone table at the centre of the room, around which sat his father the Caliph, the Seljuk Sultan Arslanshah, the Ghaznavid Shah Khusrau , Muhammed of Ghor, and the Great Mufti Kahlan, son of the aged Imam Murshed of Oman.

His jaw dropped almost to the floor.

[phonicsmonkey]

The ghulam had struggled for a moment or two, eyes bulging and throat making a hissing, crackling sound as he fought for air. With a final, almost desultory kick at the flagstones, he gave up his life and slumped dead at his killer’s feet. The hooded figure dragged the body into a dimly-lit alcove and quickly changed into the ghulam's ornate armour, paying special attention to the face-guard which would protect his identity.

Moving quickly yet determinedly he followed the stone corridor through twists and turns until he came to the small door from which the ghulam guard had emerged some five minutes previously. Passing quietly through the door he found himself in an anteroom, lit by a single blazing torch.

An ornately carved wooden screen was set in one wall, through which he could see light and hear voices. There was a stool in front of the screen on which he sat. Looking through the screen he could see the conference table, and the various heads of state gathered there. The Caliph, his son, the Sultans, the Shah and the Grand Mufti.

He allowed himself a brief moment’s satisfaction as he reflected that his paymaster would be very happy at his success. Then he concentrated on listening to the discussion, and committing to memory every single word….

[phonicsmonkey]

The Caliph beckoned to Az-Zahir, who slowly walked over to the table and took his seat at his father’s right hand.

“Az-Zahir my son, welcome to the Brotherhood of the Faithful. You will have many questions, and we will answer them all in due course, but for now let me begin by explaining some of the background and why you are here.

Of course you know that in the past the Caliphate of my ancestors stretched from Persia to Al-Andalus. The Caliphs of the past were pious and mighty, but were also arrogant and complacent, and so the Caliphate splintered and broke up amid bitter factional rivalry and fighting. Out of the ashes of the Caliphate rose the new dynasties of the Seljuk Turks, the Ghaznavids, the Omanis and the men of Ghor.

My life’s mission has been to restore the glory of the former Caliphate, but to avoid the mistakes of my predecessors. Once the work of my early years was done, and the lands around Baghdad were secure and prosperous, I started to reach out to our Brothers in Faith that now ruled over our former territories. It took a long time to win their trust, but through my diplomatic efforts a secret alliance was formed between the Caliphate and those leaders you see now around this table. We pledged to work together to create a new Caliphate dedicated to the glory of the mighty Allah, where each tribe of the ummah could have political and even religious freedom, without fear of oppression.”

Az-Zahir interrupted, “But father, if this is a coalition of Islamic nations why is not the Khwarezm Shah present, or the great Salahuddin? And what of the Rum Turks?”

The Caliph nodded his head and sighed.

[phonicsmonkey]

As he drew breath to answer, the Seljuk Sultan Arslanshah interjected loudly, half-rising in his seat in his passion.

"Bah! The Rum Turks! Those rebellious knaves that call themselves our equals aren't fit to parley with us honourable men!"

The Ghaznavid Shah Khusrau placed a hand on Arslanshah's shoulder, who sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, glowering.

"Personal feelings and rivalries aside, what my friend here means to say is that the formation of the Brotherhood was primarily a strategic, not a religious move. It made sense for those of us with contiguous borders to join together in this alliance and protect one another until we grew strong. We were chiefly concerned about getting embroiled in a war with either the Crusaders or Rome before we were prepared, and we saw that a defensive alliance with either the Ayyubids or the Rum Turks would surely lead to a war with the men of the West sooner rather than later. We wanted to avoid uniting the Christian nations against us, and keep them divided if possible while we grew strong in secret, strong enough to counter any aggression from them."

Muhammed of Ghor cut in with a sly grin.

"And in the case of the poor Khwarezm Shah, well, we just had to find something for our Seljuk brothers to occupy themselves with instead of attacking Georgia…the Shah was like a bone given to a dog to distract him from the food on the table."

The Ghaznavid looked slightly embarrassed at this, but the Seljuk grinned wolfishly at Az-Zahir, his eyes glinting with ill-concealed bloodlust.

Az-Zahir gulped, and broke away from his piercing gaze. Clearing his throat, he turned to Muhammed of Ghor, known as the Godfearer, and asked, "But what of the war that has been raging these years between Ghazni and Ghor? And the Ghazni alliance with the Hindoos? For that matter, what of the Turk's 'Coalition of Freedom'?"

[Askthepizzaguy]

Sultan Malik stood watch over the land. Off in the distance, the last of the Turkish resistance was battling for independence.

Malik pondered the mistakes of the past... and the successes. How great were the triumphs, how disastrous the losses. But for certain, Malik knew all along that the only people worth trust were one's countrymen, one's family. In spite of Kaikosru's teachings, Malik could never bring himself to accept the idea of trusting men who covet your land, your wives, your resources, all behind the fake smile of diplomacy.

Kaikosru believed in an ideal... perhaps, a foolish ideal. The idea that if you show someone mercy instead of cruelty, the idea that you fight for the lives of your friends, instead of abandon them, if you should offer the hand of friendship to strangers, and trust those who return your kindnesses, the world would be a better place.

Malik never once believed such nonsense. But he stood quiet, and obeyed his commander. Loyalty, duty, and respect for his commander... Malik could take no more. When trust and kindness had failed to bring about peace and brotherhood between nations... between Muslims and the infidel... when empires were burning, and alliances were broken... when those we trusted turned against us... Malik had enough.

Kaikosru would follow in his father's footsteps, as a failure who could have been great. And now there was no more time. The enemy were at the gates, the people were being butchered, the army was gone, and our security was bought for the price of being the slaves of Roman infidels...

There was no time for Malik to achieve greatness. The war was lost, just as he ascended to the throne. He acted too late. Such hesitation, with so much at stake... cost everyone dearly.

"Coalition of Freedom... HAH!"

Coalition of Fools. Coalition of Cowards. Coalition of Weaklings. Those not brave enough to shout from the mountains their true allegiances. Those rats who hide in fear of brave and honest men.

Well, the snakes had won today. And from now on, the snakes would rule the world. Malik could not turn to the Catholics, for they were sworn enemies and traitors. Malik could not turn to his fellow Muslims, for they have allowed greed to pervert the ways of Islam. The tribes of the north were nothing, and there was no one left to challenge this rising power of darkness and treachery.

Kaikosru had his time. His ideals had a chance. The world had a chance for peace and brotherhood. There would be no more of that. Malik looked East... and saw the rise of the old ideals. The old hatreds. The old prejudices. The old ways.

In war, there are no friends. Only those who have not yet mustered the strength to assault you from the front. And invariably, they will be found wielding daggers behind you. That was the way of things... the world is cruel, after all. Only the cruelest survive.

________________________________


But Malik smiled. If one subscribes to that ideal... then one must destroy everything that is not under one's control. One can never trust anyone. This new... "Muslim Brotherhood"... founded on the very antithesis of trust and honor.

It was only a matter of time before the greediest, and most cowardly of them all, would step forward first and plant the first knife in the back of his Muslim "brother".

Perhaps they would wait until all their enemies were gone before they turned on one another. Malik sincerely doubted that they would be able to turn thier backs on one another without wondering... who would strike first.

Peace and defense... no longer exist. The once fertile crescent is now broken.

______________________________

Let the bloodbath begin.