Samarkand the Omnibus: Books 1-2

by Graham Diamond

  The wearied mullah pushed off his hood, put his white-knuckled hands against the broken, glittering, wet stone of the crenelated wall. As his gaze followed the soaring of a large bird in flight, he breathed deeply of the rain-freshened air. The dust of past days was gone forever, and the city below, broken as it was, seemed the way it had been many years before, while he was but a youthful novice being educated within the hallowed halls of the Great Mosque.

  The bird traveled south, and Zadek smiled at the loveliness of the land; the distant steppes were capped by rising mountains, and from this high place it was even possible to discern the faraway red glow of the dunes and the desert. Yes, this would be a day to remember, a day that would live forever in the annals of Samarkand history. And he was pleased that there were others to share it with him.

  He peered below at the sound of voices, familiar voices. The saya, garbed in a colorful gown of desert night-blue, her antelope’s horn around her neck, was crossing the shattered walkway of the garden, Roskovitch and another man flanking her. The barbarian from the cold lands of Rus walked tall and proud, his scalp-lock black and shiny, his muscles taut beneath his shirt. The other man, older by far and of smaller stature, Zadek knew to be the Persian, Lucienus, the first emissary to arrive since the Hun Khan’s downfall.

  Carolyn cut a striking and beautiful figure, as royal and regal as befitted her high office. She had greeted Lucienus in much the same manner as she had greeted the former Kazir enemy, General Le-Dan. Le-Dan’s armies had struck boldly from the south that fateful day. Yes, even as the Devil’s Wind stirred, he and his men had attacked, and with Persian support routed all of Kabul’s Southern Armies in a single day. By the time Le-Dan had marched to the city gates, Samarkand had been successfully taken by the Kazirs. The first moments had been tense as the former antagonists regarded each other mistrustfully. Zadek had prayed for peace, though, and that wish had quickly been answered. The Kazirs, Carolyn in the forefront, had greeted Le-Dan with all the honor his rank deserved, and by the time the first discussions were complete, it had been agreed that authority of the empire — the new empire — was to be equally shared. A century of hatred was done. The Kazirs would live with their cousins in harmony, the saya and the Persian-blooded soldier ruling together. The way it should have always been. And how ironic, Zadek thought, that it had taken Kabul and his Huns to bring about this friendship.

  Carolyn and Le-Dan. They would be good for Samarkand, Zadek knew. But in his heart he was sad, for his wish had been for Tariq and Sharon to have shared that authority. Tariq and Sharon, now dead, buried somewhere beneath the rubble of the palace. It was strange, he mused, strange that Kabul’s body had been so easily found, yet those of the Panther and the Kazir chieftain remained missing. How they would have loved to have been here now. To have seen at last the fruits of their struggle, their long years of suffering and denial. But fate was fate. The prophecy could have had it no other way. The Panther was never meant to take the reins of power, and because of Tariq’s love, his undying love for her, he, too, had not been permitted his rightful place.

  Zadek lifted his craggy face to the sky, sighed, a tear swelling at the corner of his eye. Yet was it necessary for them to die? Could the heavens have been so cold and relentless that even the right for the lovers to share happiness together had been denied?

  The mad mullah shrugged, wistfully shut his eyes. It was not for him to ask such questions. All that mattered was that for the first time things were right. The Huns were dead or expelled, Samarkand and her ancient peoples freed at last. The Kazirs had come in from the steppes and desert to stand alongside the rest, take their rightful places. The prophecy had given them all a new chance.

  Happiness rang through the city. The subjugated people now flocked in the markets, cheering, hailing the saya, throwing flowers at her feet, anxiously waiting for the arrival of Le-Dan, last surviving of the emir’s bloodline. So much joy, Zadek saw. So much grief as well, yet so much more in fortune to look forward to. Poor Sharon. Poor Tariq. If only they could be here now...

  Zadek hunched his shoulders and turned, ready now to go down and take his place beside Hezekiah and the others of Samarkand’s new governing council. It was by sheer chance that a distant glint caught his eye, and he paused to stare out across the nearest hill, a lovely green-grassed hill filled with wild flowers, where two riders had reined in their steeds and were looking his way.

  Without knowing why, Zadek felt his heart begin to race, his palms become moist. He screwed his eyes tightly, leaned as far across the wall as he safely could. Who were these riders dressed in the flowing robes of the desert? And why were they staring at him from the distance and waving?

  His mouth hung open; he stared in disbelief. The riders threw off their hoods, and he saw a man and a woman together. Strangers, yet somehow familiar. The man was laughing now, the woman sharing his mirth, waving at Zadek, her long hair flowing gaily in the gentlest of breezes.

  “It’s not possible!” gasped Zadek, shaking his head in despair. “It can’t be!”

  Tariq’s smile, though, was unmistakable, even from here. And Sharon — the poisons she had known as the Panther had vanished from her face. She was the same, yes, but different. Another girl, the girl of long before, the child he had saved from the clutches of Kabul.

  Zadek waved frantically, called for them to come to him. Sharon shook her head. Tariq pointed southward, to the well-traveled caravan route leading to Persia. Then they both waved one final time, led their horses from the hill, and rode off proudly. The mad mullah, stunned and still unsure of what he had seen, watched them for as long as he could, staring as the fine horses disappeared across the fields. There were tears streaming down his lined face now, true tears of joy. Had he told anyone of what he’d seen, they would not have believed him; they’d have laughed, called him mad. But the evidence had been there — at least for his eyes. Tariq and Sharon were safe! Free at last to live their own lives, to travel the roads to Persia, to find new lives for themselves.

  Suddenly the meaning of the prophecy became clear to him, and his tears were matched by his zealot’s faith. The Panther and the Steppes was indeed dead. Killed with Kabul and the rest on the fateful Night of Atonement. But the woman, the purified, venom-free girl he loved, remained. And yes, though she and Tariq were not meant to rule, their love was stronger than he’d dared believe. That alone had seen them through, had kept them intact while the palace crumbled around them. And now they had completed their tasks — the tasks so carefully set down in the Kazir prophesy. Now they could live as they’d dreamed.

  “Goodbye, my children!” Zadek called merrily, not caring as Kazir sentries in the towers saw him wave and heard him call out to the wind. “May Allah bless you both! Live and live well! Find happiness in your children and in the grandchildren to come. Samarkand loves you!”

  Then the old man wiped his eyes, smiling through his tears, and resignedly walked back down the steps, eager to take up his new duties. Oh, what a glorious day it was! How perfect! How very perfect — the finest of his long life. No, he’d never forget. Never. Nor would Sharon and Tariq. For this time truly the prophecy was fulfilled — or so it is said.

  If you enjoyed Samarkand The Omnibus: Books 1-2 check out Graham Diamond’s Empire Princess Omnibus here:

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