The Twin Sorcerers

by Der Nogard

  Ghazan imagined the moment when Xenia would regain her strength. He attempted to imagine a reconciliation with his father but found this prospect more difficult to grasp in his mind’s eye. It seemed altogether distant. But he had more pressing matters to consider, specifically his upcoming meeting with the dragon Aisin. “My mind is all in a muddle,” said the prince, resuming his seat on the divan. His feet tapped against one of the thick carpets for which Maler was famous, though it had a healthy rivalry with Marchande, the other great sultanate in the land of Banu Yunus.

  “Where do I start?” Ghazan wondered. He had always gone to his father for advice, but now he was quite alone. When he would meet the merchant, his host, in the hall, he found the man’s face no longer held the reverence for him as the sultan’s son as it had before. As the prospect of reconciliation with his father became distant, Ghazan pondered that he was rapidly losing esteem in the man’s eyes, not to mention all the other men like him that inhabited this city. The honor that he had felt in being the son of a king, of being handsome and strong, now no longer held the sheen that they had only a few days before. Ghazan was finding that the world outside the sultan’s palace was colder than he knew.

  “Where do I begin to find such a creature?” the prince wondered.

  “First you must consider a weapon and a steed. No ordinary beast will do for Aisin, neither will an ordinary weapon.” This was all said by Dir-en-Shad who seemed always only a stone’s throw away. “Go to the land of the ogress Karthik and find Prince Ulugh. His people have been plagued by the woman. Prince Ulugh will reward you with the holy lance Hulagu if you free his land from Karthik’s deprecations. Once you obtain this weapon, it must be dipped in the blood of Karthik. By this means alone can you defeat Aisin and save your love as well as yourself.”

  Ghazan gazed at Dir-en-Shad in wonder, mesmerized both by his words and his presence.

  “The ice dragon lives far to the south,” said Dir-en-Shad. “He travels north every 200 years to lay waste the land. This is called shevar, it is the berserk rage that male dragons aged less than three eons undergo until they learn better ways. Aisin, for all his strength, is only about as old as Maler, that is, about two eons. Go with my blessing to slay him and be girded in my dark power.”

  Dir-en-Shad opened a vial that hung from a bracelet about his wrist. He poured some blue liquid upon his thumb and then he asked Ghazan to remove his jeweled turban. The prince unwrapped his turban, which if stretched out reached to the length of ten men, and then Dir-en-Shad brushed away the bit of hair that hung over the prince;s brow. The mage made a mark there. His face assumed a smile, a smile of great wickedness, though Ghazan was as fresh as a day-old pearl and unable to see it for it was. “Go now and be quick!” said the mage.

  Ghazan felt that even if he wanted to refuse Dir-en-Shad he could not. So he traveled far to the south where the ogress was said to live. She lived in the land of Canxir, which was ruled by a prince who was not on familiar terms with Ghazan’s father and whose customs were different from those of the Banu Yunus. As Ghazan fed his mare at a wadi of the Kulum, a tributary of the great Randal of Randalkand, he thought of the great journey that was splayed out before him. He had never before gone beyond the borders of Maler, and now he was to go into foreign kingdoms, lands that were hostile not only to his father, but to all the sons of the Yunus. In the Randalkand, they would see his jeweled turban and know him instantly as an enemy of their people. The prince knew that he would have to pass through many unfriendly lands to reach Canxir.

  Here, in the house of this merchant, Ghazan was suddenly alone. He began to feel a dark feeling, an anger that he had never felt before. It was unjust that he, the son of a sultan, was reduced to begging for aid from a merchant. It was unjust that his father did not see the pure love that was in his heart, that he would never do anything to dishonor him. Indeed, he wanted only to serve him. It was unjust that he must embark on this odyssey without a friend in the world. He might surely die and the world might soon forget that there was ever a prince called Ghazan-ud-din of Maler.

  And so Ghazan left his lady with his host. He did not say goodbye to her as this act only reminded him that he would probably never see her again. He must go and fight a dragon and earn back his place in his father’s kingdom. “Curse this land of dragons!” he thought as he spurred his mare across the border into the Randalkand. He wished that he had been born upon another world, one where these beasts did not live.

  The prince traveled two weeks through the Randalkind, but his journeys were remarkable only for the poverty he faced. He had no dinars or dirhams to pay for nights at well-put-up inns or to dine on finer fare. Indeed, he had to sell all of his princely stuffs merely to pay his way across the land. He pawned two jeweled turbans, sold a feathered cap that he had gotten as a birthday present from the Duke of Ristavi. He sold two azags and the pack of mammoth leather inlaid with elephantine that Princess Rusudan’s husband had given to him. He even had to sell his boots and go about in humble shoes.

  But before long he did reach the land of Canxir. He skirted the town, now too poor even to pay for a single night at an inn. Ashamed, he fell asleep under the shade of a twister wither-wood tree. He dreamt of the many legions of strange people that he had met, adherents of a strange religion. They spoke over and over the chant: “Alamgul, Alamgul, Alamgul e Dano, Azag-el-Deper.” These words had no meaning to the prince, whose mind was constantly drawn to the bilious complexions of the people and their sad, hysterical eyes.

  The prince was gladdened when he reached Canxir. Though there were few of them in the Randalkand, there were none at all to be encountered this far south. But he did not think of them. He thought only of the great thirst that parched his throat. Ghazan had run out of water on his last day of travel and when he awoke his throat burned with a desire for water. The prince’s last dream had been of water: that he stuck his head out of a window of the palace of Maler only to have an infant sand dragon breathe fire at him, an act which drew all of the water out of his body and made him gag with a parched throat.

  “Water, water,” Ghazan whispered as his eyes blundered open.

  “Is it water you want?” asked a man standing over him.

  “Yes,” said Ghazan, “give me water. Didn’t you hear me? Please give me water. I am humbled before you and I would do anything for it. I shall even kiss your feet.”

  “No need for that,” said the man. He was ruddy complexioned and wearing animal skins of all make and shape draped across his body almost haphazardly. His hairless face along with the rest of his appearance instantly made him out for a barbarian and Ghazan drew back in alarm.

  “Nothing to worry over,” said the man. “We are not cannibals here.”

  “You are of this land?”

  “No,” said the traveler. “Just passing through. By the looks of you, you are not of this land either. You may be reduced to beggary, but you still have the mark of nobility to you. What brings you to this land?”

  “You would not believe me if I told you.”

  “Come to kill the ogress, have you?”

  “How did you…”

  “That’s what everyone comes to Southern Canxir for. There’s no other reason to come here. The Cerkes raid these parts with regularity, though they avoid this particular valley because of Karthik. I am surprised you did not know that? Yes, we get lots of tourists. They do not come to kill the ogress, they only seem curious about where she lives and especially what she looks like. But as soon as the ground starts a-rumbling they go running for the hills!” and the man gave a mighty laughter.

  “You are not a dwarf are you?” asked Prince Ghazan.

  “No, I am not a dwarf!” the man exclaimed. “Though you would not be the first to ask. I guess you could say that I make sort of a living off of Karthik. I hang about this land, dealing with most of the people that come through these parts. At night, mostly. Their things, I mean.”

  “Then you are a thief?” asked Ghazan.


  “I prefer the term entrepreneur.”

  “I do not want to know about any of that,” said the prince. “What is a tourist and why would one of them come here?”

  “You will find out soon enough,” said the thief. “There is a gaggle of them just trudging up the hill there. Do you not see them, how fat and happy they are? I can show you how to get to Karthik. Her house is just behind these woods here. You shall need more than that dagger there to slay her. If that is all you have, then you have a hard task before you.”

  “It is all that I have,” Prince Ghazan whispered.

  “Well, there are a healthy store of jewels there. I will trade it for this javelin,” and he thumbed back to the long weapon that he had shoved into his pack. “It may not be worth as much as that dagger there, but you have no use for it here. You would be wise to agree to a barter.”

  “It is a kujala, a stout dagger,” said the prince. “All warriors of my land keep this and they would rather die than part with it.” The prince looked at the dagger. “Especially one that has tasted blood,” he boasted, though that was not entirely true.

  “Then how about that,” said the thief, eyeing a gold ring that the prince had on his finger. “I will trade you that for the javelin, if I cannot have the whatever it was you said.”

  “I cannot give this to you either,” said Ghazan. “It belonged to my father and it is the last thing that I have that comes from him. Even the kujala was a gift from the emirs of my kingdom. This ring is all that is left of the many things that I have been given by the sultan, my father.”

  “Well, it is little use to you now it seems. I shall either take the ring or the pole, take your pick,” and the thief turned as if making to walk away.

  “Or I could pounce you, take the javelin, and keep both the kujala and the ring,” said Ghazan.

  “You are in no shape to pounce anything,” said the thief. “Here,” and the man give Ghazan a sip of the date juice that he had in a wooden flask.

  The drink instantly roused Ghazan. He gripped it as the babe grips the breast and he had his fill When the prince was done, he opened his eyes, as he had closed them, and he saw the world around him with new light. He thought he could see the house of the ogress through some sparse trees.

  The prince leapt up to his feet. “I am in your debt,” he said, and he took off the ring.

  Ghazan tightened his gear and followed the thief to the house of Karthik. The thief did not seem frightened as this must have been a trip the man had made many times before. Though Ghazan had reason to fear, based on the stories that he had heard, he knew that the lore of men often had no import, and he found himself girded in the happy confidence of the thief.

  The house of the ogress was shaped out of boulders and it rest at the foot of the cliff, under the shade of a gargantuan tree. Ghazan could not see her, but he could hear her rumblings as she walked with giant feet around the house, throwing around this thing or that. The thief told Ghazan to grip the lance tightly and to watch the ogress from the window before he went in to battle her. He must study her movement as every man that has not has died. She eats the men who come to her, as the ogresses of Canxir are known to dine on only the flesh of other ogres or on people, though they prefer the sweetness of people.

  After Ghazan had slain the ogress, he left her house where he was greeted by the thief. “What is your name?” the prince asked the man, who handed him a flask to refresh himself again.

  “I am called Vriso,” said the man, telling Prince Ghazan that his lands were very far from where they then were.

  Ghazan learned from Vriso that he must burn Karthik so that her body would not attract other ogresses. Though Karthik was the primary monster known in these parts, there must be others. If they got the scent, they might repair here and attempt to eat here. But Ghazan told the man that before he did anything with Karthik’s body, he must first visit the court of Prince Ulugh, the ruler of this land.

  When Prince Ghazan reached the city of Canxir at dawn the next day, he found that the town guards were already pushing open the mighty bronze doors to gain him entry. The pair of doors were the height of six men all standing on top of the other, and it took twenty men to push the heavy doors open and pull them closed, which they did twice a day. As in other cities, the doors were closed at night to keep any foreign mercenaries or unwanted travelers out.

  Prince Ghazan’s feat had preceded him. He found the way to the palace ringed by maidens all carrying lit candles and dressed in white. This sight startled the prince, as it was very different from the custom in his land where the women were all veiled and cloistered. The high-born women never left the zenanah at all, sometimes spending their entire lives within its walls. These maidens wore sleeveless chemises and their shoulders and arms were bare, even their cleavage was visible to any man who had the thought to look upon it. Ghazan felt that he was in a dream, not knowing from one moment to the next if he what he currently experienced was just now happening or if it was something that had happened in the past and he was only now recalling.

  Though the walls of the city were fashioned of stone, the palace of ruler was made of wood that had been painted in joyous figures and edged in gold. The prince entered a hall that was propped up by columns carved in the shapes of giants. The muscles of their carven figured displayed the great strength the sculptors had imbued them with, though the ideas had first taken hold in the minds of the men of this land. The giants labored under the effort, their great beards stretching down to the floor. This first hall teemed with princes and princesses of the royal house, members of all the noble houses, and the many servants that were part of the prince’s household. From this chamber, a second chamber opened, and this was the great festive hall of the prince. Instead of the Chamberlains, Nabobs, Wazirs, and Emirs of his father’s court, this throne hall had a simple carved wooden throne at the far end, around which were guards wearing single-horned helmets, and nobles arrayed in woolen embroidered gowns and diadems.

  The prince stood as Ghazan entered the hall. As the son of the sultan of Maler approached the dais of the throne, Prince Ulugh stepped down from it and opened his hands in welcome. He smiled and embraced Ghazan in thanks. “This land is in your debt,” said Prince Ulugh of Canxir. “The debt that we owe you can never be repaid, but I can offer you chattel as signs of my thanks.”

  A servant brought forward the holy lance of Hulagu as well as some other well-fashioned gifts. These were all brought out in trunks like dower chests. Ghazan’s eyes were instantly drawn to the lance. Though the weapon was worn by centuries of use, it was tipped in gold.

  “This lance belonged to the Atabeg Hulagu, grandfather of that Yunus who lived more than two centuries ago and gave his name to your people, the Banu Yunus,” said the ruling prince. “It is said that the soul of this great warrior inhabits this weapon. My own ancestor found this weapon buried in our land and it became our national symbol, even being represented on our flag. We used to send our maidens to the ogress so that she might eat them. Some men even slew their daughters so that they might be spared such a terrible fate. As you, prince, have freed us from an awful tyranny, I may now return to you that which has long belonged to us, but which now shall be yours once again. As I give you this lance, know that you have my thanks. You shall always be welcome here, and if at any time you should desire a princess of this royal house, you shall only to choose her and she shall be yours, even if she already has a husband to which she has been wed or promised.”

  Prince Ghazan, consumed with emotion, bowed to the prince and took the offered lance. He handed it to Vriso who stood by him. “I thank you for this offer, prince,” said Ghazan, “but I already have someone to whom my fate is tied. I take this lance, but I must leave your land as I have a dark road before me. I go further south, to the land where Aisin lives, and it is possible that I may never see this land again as I do not know how much longer I have upon the world. By the hands of the dragon I must certainly fall, but
you I shall always remember for this gift that you have given me. If I am to slay this dragon Aisin, I shall do it with this lance, and for this you shall have my gratitude, even in death.”

  Ghazan left the court of Ulugh, the gathered people of Canxir regarding him with wonder. As the prince left the palace, Vriso following behind with the lance, a strange imagining flittered across the prince’s head. The prince wondered: “Why must dragons be slain at all?”

  Chapter Two

  Before the sun had set, Ghazan returned to the form of Karthik, where he dipped the holy lance Hulagu into the life blood of the monster. The blood was amethyst in shade instead of the blue of princes. Outside the house of the ogress, Ghazan mounted his mare, Khurshid-Begum, and began his journey to the southern lands where he hoped to find the dragon Aisin. His friend Vriso accompanied him part of the way, but left off in a market town of the Lesser Cerkes Horde. The thief found that these new lands were bristling with activity and he simply could not resist the temptation of making his fortune here so they parted ways. In the Southern Rim of mountains, in the land of the Burinkhan of Quban, Ghazan neared the presence of Aisin.

  The air seemed to flitter with magic and the nights were warmer than any that Ghazan had ever experienced. Though he was racing to sudden death, when he rest his head to sleep beneath a tent that Prince Ulugh had given him as a present, he found that his heart was joyous rather than sad. He wondered after his father, and his heart felt pangs of guilt that he could not aid him in his older years, surrounded as the old man was by eunuchs, sycophants, rebellious Emirs, Wazirs, Nabobs, and Chamberlains, and others who must make his life more cared rather than free of cares. But then Ghazan opened his eyes, peeked his head out of his tent, and saw the flash of fireflies and felt the breath of the air of a distant lake brush against his face.

  He understood that this was life. Life was a thing in which the past and present might occupy the same space. One might fall to slumber to find one relived a moment that had already passed. One might smile and form a picture in one’s brain, an image of a goal achieved, and reshape the world around oneself. There was still Xenia, the woman for whom he had thrown away all that he possessed, but in this moment, resting beneath a tent and going on to his death, he felt that he had not lost anything, that he had never possessed anything at all.