Saroy City
Royal Palace
Babur leafed through the three papers in his hand, having already been told of their contents. There were three letters for three nations; the KalSol and Tsar would be coming in person to meet with him, great honors indeed. Dong Wei too would attend the talks, though their president had cited other obligations and chosen to send some delegate instead to represent his nation's interests. The Sultan scoffed at the thought of Dong Wei's president; that was a backwards land indeed.
Centuries had passed while the Kingdom of Man Hu and the Sultanate had supported one another and had lucrative trade, but in these past decades the Kingdom had collapsed and its bastard child, the Republic of Dong Wei, had been born. This sorry state of affairs was doubtlessly a punishment from the Celestial Above as punishment for Man Hu's ignorance of the truth; despite years of missionary efforts by the Ajdar (many of which were ongoing), the religion hadn't taken root and the modern state of Dong Wei only had perhaps a million Ajdars. In the any case, though Dong Wei had kept to the precedent of their former kingdom and maintained the same economic and military ties with Tin, relations had been strained.
It was a most perturbing trend to Babur and indeed all of the Caliphate's aristocracy to see ancient and righteous monarchies fall; in recent years the Kataylan Imperium had similarly disappointed by collapsing into a degenerate, bastard state, though they had of course fallen much farther with their backwards thinking of society. Still, the various democracies and republics were a blight upon the land, finally outnumbering the traditional monarchies. Dragon permitting, that would soon change, but in the meantime Babur would be careful to support the Tsar of Ventium. Though they were not eye to eye on many things and had never been especially close, it would be a heinous crime to simply allow the idea of popular sovereignty to corrupt yet another land, gaining legitimacy and an ever greater chance of spreading its evil infectiousness to Tin's masses.
All that being said, while the nearby infidel lands were to be watched and talk of them would no doubt arise in the upcoming meeting, that was not the most pressing issue. The Zanjir Archipelago and the elven empire's seeming insistence on war would be the looming topic of the talks, and so that was what Babur continued to think about. Time and time again he had sat for hours thinking about the possible courses of action, discussing it with any servant or adviser that was listen (of course, none dared to not listen to the Caliph of the Dragon) and tossing about in his bed throughout the nights unable to sleep while he thought about the islands. In the end, however, he had seen his foolishness.
It was a sobering reminder that even a Caliph of the Dragon could have weakness in his heart; his mind had been plagued by how many good soldiers would fall and how many innocent elves would die in such a conquest, but such thoughts were traitorous, heretical, and cowardly. In the palace gardens he had sat with only a candle for light and companionship, suffering the cold and dark desert night while he read the Ajdar texts for what must have been the hundredth time in his life. With each passage he found determination, strength, and bravery in the face of what was to come: the old scriptures were clear: the faithful who died to spread the Faith died worthy and honorable deaths indeed, and would ascend to the heavens to be ever closer to the almighty Firedrake. The elves who died as heathens were not innocents. In fact, they were not people at all, for the truth had been in their faces as clear as the war that slaughtered them or the burning sun over Tin's sandy wastes, and yet they had still chosen to deny it vehemently so as to only damn their own souls in a petulant attempt to spite the Dragon. The Dragon was power, strength, truth, and all that there was: his way was the only way, and his way was to spread the Ajdar everywhere, whether through words, blades, or bombs.
The young Sultan knew what he needed to do: war with the elves was inevitable, he only needed to convince other sovereigns to support him and the effort. If their aid did not come militarily then perhaps they could at aid in the effort diplomatically by recognizing Tin's claims, for the world needed to know that this was indeed a just and righteous war. Lies spread easily and enemies hid everywhere in the shadows; Tin could not afford to lose the support of its noble partners. The only question was
exactly how he would go about garnering this support. He had asked that his High Minister of Diplomacy, Tolon Bey, aid him with the negotiations. While the Bey had a questionable background and reputation, his silver tongue was famous from the small town that was his ancestral fief to the peaks of the great Narida Mountains to the west.
~==--==--==~
After folding and turning the papers in his hands for an hour while he was lost in thought, Babur's musings were suddenly interrupted by the incessant ringing of a bell. The bull tower was only used to announce the death of a Sultan or sound the alarm in case of an attack. Bewildered, the Sultan jumped to his feet and moved to leave his office to find out what chaos had erupted. Before he could even reach it, his door was shook by a panicked knocking. Mere feet from the door, he called out, "Come i-"
Before he even finished, one of the palace guards burst into the room, the door almost swinging into Babur's face. "Great Caliph," he panted, "your brothers escaped from the tower that they were incarcerated within. After we found the guards dead, we immediately sounded the alarm. Even now, the palace guards sweep across the palace grounds while the city garrison closes all the ports. Firedrake permitting, we shall find them!"
~==--==--==~
Their poorly planned escape having failed miserably, the three Mirzas and their cohorts had been found cowering in the bushes of the royal gardens. They hadn't so much as made it over the walls before the alarm was sounded and any hope of escape made long gone. Now, they all had their hands bound behind their backs, and (forcefully, in some cases) were put on their knees before Babur. With looks of mixed hatred and despondence, they awaited their inevitable fate.
Babur could hardly even bear to look them in the eyes. He had ignored all precedent by refusing to kill them as his advisers suggested and tradition dictated. Instead, he had merely confined them out of concern for his own safety more than any punishment on them. Even saying that he had imprisoned them was somewhat absurd; they had been provided with drink and feast, permitted guests from outside, and 'imprisoned' within the most luxurious towers of the palace grounds, their chambers even more lavish than those that they had possessed before. Many would have begged or even bled for the right to be 'held prisoner' in such conditions.
Yet they had betrayed his trust and his authority once more. In his heart he knew that it was not even their confinement that they had objected to, but rather his rule. Their lust for power and their envy and hatred towards him was so great that they had decided to escape and attempt rebellion, murdering their brother and Caliph to usurp the throne. That, or perhaps they sought vengeance for Dhiyal's death. Such evil brought Babur to tears, though they did not flow. Like everything else he kept them pent up inside, allowing his eyes to water until he could scarcely see, yet refusing to let a single drop slide down his face. He could not be weak.
First he looked at those who had enacted the plot and tried to free them. They were a sorry lot, consisting of traitorous nobles and corrupt guardsmen that had been bribed. They were vile and not of his own kin, so sentencing them to die was easy enough. They were dragged out to a secluded place where they would be given a traditional form of execution: the Firedrake's Justice. It was a tortuous and drawn out death that involved being tied to posts and scourged, impaled by spears, and finally burned alive. The whip symbolized the Dragon's tail, the spears its teeth, and the fire its sacred breath. Their agony would be their atonement; their burning would be their cleansing and salvation.
Looking his brothers in the face and ordering them to be put to death was another story. It was wrong, but there was no other way. He would be weak and foolish to spare them twice. Choking as he struggled to even speak, the Sultan had managed to croak out orders for them all to be strangled. He stood there frozen, his manner resembling a statue of cold stone as he suffered all of their spittle and insults. One of them, a man that Babur did not recognize, spoke out, "Exalted Sultan, I beg your mercy that I might serve you and the Dragon for years to come!"
Babur turned to look at that man, his eyes cold. He did not recognize that one, but then again, his father had left behind many bastards and there were several that Babur had never so much as spoken to. They were all the same, and they were all assembled here. "You will share the fate of the rest of them," the Sultan answered that one.
While the one that had pleaded for mercy went silent and seemed to accept his fate, the rest did not care so much for dignity. Spittle and swears flew from their mouths and washed over Babur, but he was as quiet and emotionless as a statue. Quickly, their hatred turned to cowardice and their true colors were shown as they began to beg for mercy and forgiveness.
In the name of mercy he had servants bring in jugs of wine, though many already reeked of alcohol. Once he might have resented their cowardice for drinking in order to find the bravery to try escaping, but now he felt only pity and remorse. Ironically it was their malice and faults that made them seem all the more human. They would be allowed to indulge one last time and drink themselves to oblivion. It would lessen their pain and ease Babur's conscience.
Once more the strange one stood out. He refused the wine, asking to face death with a clear mind. It struck a chord with Babur, who asked, "And who are you, stoic one, that I have never met?"
Already having been forced to his knees like the rest of them, the young man (he couldn't have been more than sixteen) still lowered his head in respect. "Exalted Caliph, I am your cousin Baiju Elbek. We have not met as my years have been spent training with the Janissaries and I was only just stationed here as a guard, though your men imprisoned me when they took the others. I took no part in any plots; with an open heart I declare my innocence and plead for mercy once more."
Babur did not need to ask to verify this Elbek's story, for in every word from the boy's mouth there rang out resounding truth and intelligence, loyalty and honor. If such a man would stab Babur in the back, then the Sultan would gladly ascend to the Dragon for a world with such treachery and deceit would not be one worth living in. "Honorable one, I beg for your forgiveness," the Sultan answered Elbek to the disbelief of all. It was unheard of for a Sultan to ask forgiveness; they were always seen as indomitable and flawless, with not even a possibility of ever being wrong. "Release him at once, men."
Elbek moved towards Babur's side, an incredibly bold move. The Sultan permitted it. The two watched as the others were choked and fell to the ground, one by one. Elbek too had water in his eyes, but like his elder cousin the tears did not fall.
Hasan suddenly entered the room, taken aback by the scene before him. Perhaps not even he had expected such a merciless reaction. Nontheless, he did not dwell on it for more than a moment before stating, "Their arrival is imminent: the Tsar, the KalSol, and Dong Wei's representative are nearly here. They should all arrive within the hour. The palace is secure once more, and all is prepared."
"I will meditate and pray in solitude on this day, and receive none of them," the Caliph replied adamantly. "Though we must not insult them. See to it that they are treated well."
~==--==--==~
When the Tsar's own airship neared Tin's great capital, it would quickly become obvious to any that were unaware that this was perhaps the world's most heavily fortified city. Babur's father, Sultan Tartu, was many things though a fool was not one of them. Growing paranoia about Avalia's rapidly improving air force had led to the rather wise decision to safeguard most major cities of the Sultanate, beginning with this one. The entire island was militarized. Several small fleets of frigates patrolled the waters while the seawalls and beaches had numerous flak cannons of massive proportions. On the far less urbanized section of the island that was dominated by the royal palace and its grounds, there was a massive complex that was obviously a barracks. Indeed, it housed tens of thousands of soldiers and was the headquarters of Tin's infamous Temple Guard.
For all of those defenses, though, one thing was woefully lacking and that was an air presence of any sort. While the Tinites had developed effective weaponry to take aircraft and mass produced and rigorously tested their anti-air cannons, they had no air force of their own. This was made painfully obvious by the city's lack of a large airport, runway, or anything of the sort. Fortunately, there was a small airdock located within a clearing on the royal grounds. The Tsar's airship was almost too big to land there, the tiny thing being built for smaller civilian aircraft, the type in which more and more foreign diplomats seemed to prefer as transportation in this age. Landing within the palace grounds also had the benefit of allowing one to avoid the bustling city outside, and with it all the crowds of sometimes openly hostile Tinites. The middle and lower classes were often open in the distrust, if not outright disdain, for any sort of infidel foreigners.
In any case, once Voltus and his wife stepped out into the blinding light it would be like an inferno. Wearing his coat might have been a mistake, for Tin's sun beat down upon high lords and their ladies just as it did upon the merchants and their camels, equal in in its merciless fever. While this was rather cool by a Tinite's standards on account of being a shady garden upon an island as compared to a great steppe or desert, it was still most likely warmer than Ventium's hottest summer days, being more comparable to the heat of an oven or a hearth than any weather that they would be used to. What the locals might call a sweet and refreshing ocean breeze would more likely be felt by the Ventians as something like a muggy and humid swamp air that only added to the oppressive heat.
Fortunately, they had landed only a minute or two away from the palace. A host of Temple Guards, garbed in robes and masks even in this weather, were waiting as an escort. With them were translators, diplomats, and nobles, though they would be spared from a long and formal welcoming until they reached the comfort and cool air of the palace. To get carry them the short walk to the palace was a choice of a luxury carriage, horses, or a camel. The Tinites dared not even mention the possibility of going by foot, for such a suggestion would be seen as an insult to any noble in Tin's equestrian culture. Not even the lowliest merchants went on foot, after all.
The short path to the palace was one of beauty, a windy little dirt path through the royal gardens. The orchards, hedges, and bushes had been attempted by dozens of gardeners and for centuries. Off in the distance, the small streams and pools of the water gardens could be seen. There, the children of servants and aristocrats alike splashed through the waters and played.
At the end of the path were a few fountains and a great statue of some ancient Sultan, and then there was an enormous doorway that led into the palatial complex. The palace was four stories tall in parts and had thousands of rooms, having literally cost a hundred fortunes and centuries of labor to build. It was the jewel of Saroy City, which was itself the jewel of the Sultanate, which the Tinites no doubt thought of as the jewel of the entire world. 'Twas many a poet's dream and inspiration!
~==--==--==~
While both Dong Wei's delegate and the KalSol came by boat, the foreigner from Dong Wei was escorted to the palace quickly and without commotion. No crowd had amassed to see him, for he was just another ambassador, after all. The KalSol was another matter. The Kallabis were strange, their equally strange customs, lands, and religion had long been of great interest to Tin, and hardly any had ever seen a KalSol in person. As a result, throngs of people filled the main avenue from the largest dock all the way to the palace grounds. It was easy to predict that the KalSol would be taken along that path, for it was both the most direct and the grandest and most impressive way through the city.
Mulspan Kilb would be offered a luxury, armored car, in fact it was the very same one that had been offered to Babur upon his first arrival to the capital as ruling Sultan. If he refused it, there would be other accommodations, but in any case a small fleet of vehicles and army of soldiers were there to clear the way and ensure his safety.
Saroy City, on account of being a densely populated island and the most developed city in the Sultanate, had its streets filled with pedestrians and automobiles whereas the roads in most other cities shook beneath the hooves of horses and the like. But now there were no civilian cars on the main avenue, though there were hordes of onlookers at the sides. Immediately Mulspan and any in his entourage would see that the crowds were segregated: one smaller street leading to the dockyards lead to a small community of Kallabis. Clustered near that street was a crowd of Kallbis looking on to see KalMea's leader pass by, while the other side was filled with a veritable mob of Tinites.
There were hundreds of Tinites and their looks varied from the rare friendliness to curiosity and occasionally hostility or disgust. All were silent though, due to the presence of so many soldiers there as escorts. The scene was further made strange by how the Kallabis had segregated themselves further: there were two groups. One, mostly migrant workers and foreign experts working in the city temporarily, would look normal and familiar to any hailing from KalMea. Many of them waved and cheered as Mulspan passed by. The second crowd distanced themselves from those Kallabis and only stared in much the same way as the Tinites. These people wore strange robes and nearly all had made sure to wear chains around their neck, each with a pendant that bore the likeness of the Dragon. These Kallabis had been thoroughly assimilated.
In any case, the first half of the journey was uneventful. Grand buildings, storefronts and mansions alike, were passed as they went down the road. There were also countless small fountains, parks, statues, and monuments to celebrate Tin's glory. The crowd began to grow sparser as they went further down the avenue, until there was a small turn that concealed another small mob. As the KalSol came up on them, one or two hands suddenly pointed to a nearby monument, before there was suddenly an uproar of laughter and a dozen more hands joined them.
If Mulspan followed their point he would see a magnificent monument that seemed to loom over the street, far larger than any of the other statues. Though it was old, it was certainly not vague like many of Tin's other monuments; any Kallab that had opened a history book would instantly recognize its meaning. Though the statue was somewhat weathered and old, clearly not maintained like the others, it was still recognizable as Mighty Timur: Great Warlord, Holy Crusader, Conqueror of Infidels and Scourge of Kal. The stone warlord had a proud and glorified stature, armored and mounted atop a fine horse. In one hand he held a scepter with the Dragon on top, in the other hand he held a great sabre. There were also things beneath his horse's feet, and while some had weathered to be something like lumps of stone, a few were still detailed enough to be recognizable for what they were: the likeness of mangled and broken corpses of Kallab warriors and priests.
Enraged at this sour turn of events and certain that he would be punished for this insult, not having foreseen and stopped it, the officer that led the escort of soldiers barked several orders. Two dozen Temple Guards quickly broke off from the contingent of soldiers and moved towards the crowd, though there were still plenty more. The escorts and Mulspan quickly rounded another corner which pulled them out of sight before they could see what came next, though leaving it to one's imagination was perhaps worse than seeing the real thing.
~==--==--==~
When at last the KalSol, Tsar, and Dong Wei's Delegate had arrived, they would be found chambers that were absurdly lavish, likely at least as extravagant as their own, if not more. The palace complex was massive, almost a city in its own right as it had existed for centuries and been gradually expanded throughout that entire time. Everywhere in its splendid and wide halls were servants and nobles, soldiers and artists. Only master builders and architects had been permitted to design and hew the walls and countless decorations, and the Sultans were renowned for their patronage of the arts as was exemplified by the countless masterpiece murals and statues that ornamented the walls.
While Babur was unwilling to receive them until the next day, the three leaders would not be left to their own devices or boredom for a second unless they asked as much. They were offered tours through the palace, glimpses at rare collections of everything from art to ancient weaponry, a chance to look for game in the Sultan's own hunting grounds, to swim in the water gardens, to hear performances from Tin's finest musicians, to have a play of their choice arranged just for them... The servants would bombard them all with an almost disgustingly overwhelming amount of hospitality that no words could do justice.
Then, at noon the next day, they would be led to a quaint room in the heart of the palace to meet with Babur.
