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“The Bazhir are unusual,” the knight admitted. “Martin does have reason to resent them.”
“I think he resents everybody,” Alanna muttered.
Myles ignored that. “You see, the Old King is said to have conquered all this country as far south as the Inland Sea. Actually, what he conquered was the hill country, to the east, and the coastline from Port Legann to the Tyran River. He never actually conquered this desert—it’s far too big. Instead he worked out treaties with some Bazhir and slaughtered a few others. Now some tribes call Roald their king. They trade with the rest of the kingdom and try not to cause any trouble. The others are called renegade. They won’t accept Roald as king, and they make life difficult for those who use the Southern Road. The tribe that holds Persopolis is friendly with the king, and that’s very important. Persopolis is the only city built by the Bazhir.”
Alanna thought about this for a moment. “Why only one city?” she asked. “And why Persopolis, out in the middle of nowhere?”
“There are five springs in Persopolis,” Lord Martin said harshly, bringing his horse up beside them. “As to why only one city—it’s said they built it to guard the Black City.” He snorted. “Foolishness, if you ask me. Why build a city to guard another that you can scarcely see?” He rode on back down the line.
Alanna squinted at Geoffrey’s father. “I don’t get it,” she said. “He doesn’t like the Bazhir—but His Majesty made him overlord of the Desert.”
“Martin doesn’t like the Bazhir—and they don’t like him—but he is fair,” Myles replied. “He’s fair if it kills him. The Bazhir know that, so they’ll deal with him. No one else could have gotten their respect, even if it is grudging.” Myles pushed back the hood of the burnoose he had worn since the second day out, looking intently at her. “Why so interested, Alan?”
She shrugged. “No reason—I think. Excuse me. Lord Martin’s waving.” She wheeled Moonlight and trotted back down the line. She didn’t know herself why she was so interested in the desert men.
It took a week to reach Persopolis. At last they could see its granite towers and walls rising before them. The city was built even stronger than fortresses like Trebond, and the weapons carried by its soldiers were well cared for and much used.
People lined the streets to greet their returning lord and to stare at the youth who would one day be their king. While the Bazhir kept to the back of the crowds, watching in silence, the city dwellers waved and called to the young nobles. Jonathan and his friends returned the greetings, as relaxed as if they did this every day, but Alanna guided Moonlight to a spot between Myles and the guard captain and stayed there.
“What’s the matter, youngling?” the soldier chuckled. “Shy?”
Alanna blushed. He was right. But there was something else. “Myles?” she asked softly. “Do the Bazhir always stare so?”
The knight tugged his beard thoughtfully. “Actually, they try to ignore us northerners. Perhaps it’s Jonathan.”
“Um.” Alanna’s nervous grip on the reins made her horse fidget. She tried to relax. The Bazhir were staring at her, too.
A formal banquet began in the castle late in the afternoon. Everyone wore their finest. There were toasts and long-winded speeches. Myles downed glass after glass of wine, and Alanna hid in a corner unless summoned.
“There you are.” Myles was only a little unsteady on his feet. “Are you jealous because Jonathan’s the center of attention? He’s the prince, lad. He’ll be the center of attention for a long time.” He drew a dark, well-dressed man forward. “Here’s someone who can tell you more about the Bazhir. Ali Mukhtab, this is Alan of Trebond, our page. Ali Mukhtab is the governor of Persopolis Castle. He is also Bazhir. You two talk—I’m off to a real bed at last.” Myles tousled Alanna’s hair affectionately and left her alone with Ali Mukhtab.
The page and the man sized each other up carefully. Alanna saw a tall Bazhir with walnut brown skin, glossy black hair and a trimmed black mustache. His large dark eyes were framed with long black lashes, and Alanna was to learn he rarely opened them wide. He did so now, and she shifted uncomfortably. There was power in Mukhtab’s gaze. He half closed his eyes once more, smiling sleepily.
“You are not comfortable in this setting,” he remarked quietly.
Alanna was never fond of personal remarks. She changed the subject. “I like your vest,” she announced. The vest was an elegant garment, red velvet trimmed with gold. He smiled, and she knew he had seen through her tactic.
“Sir Myles tells me you are curious about the Bazhir. Why? Surely a young man from a northern fief can have little interest in the desert.”
“A person can never tell where he’ll end up,” she said bluntly. “I understand northerners. I don’t understand the Bazhir.”
“So. A cat’s curiosity, as well as a cat’s love of privacy. Is it permitted to ask why only one page travels in your group?”
Alanna decided she liked this odd man. “His Highness asked if I could come, specially. We’re friends—he and I and Gary and Raoul—the two big squires. And Alex—”
“The dark, secretive one,” Ali Mukhtab interrupted. “He, too, is like a cat—but not one I would like to know. I am very fond of cats. At least three live in my chambers.”
“Alex isn’t secretive, precisely,” Alanna demurred. “He’s just—he’s always been that way. Can you answer something for me? I know it’s a little rude, but I’ve got to ask.”
The Bazhir smiled and accepted two glasses filled with green liquor being passed by a footman. He gave one to Alanna. “Drink,” he told her. “You’ll like it. By all means, ask me your ‘little rude’ question.”
Alanna sipped the green stuff carefully. It tasted wonderful. “I—uh—I couldn’t help but notice that Lord Martin—uh—doesn’t much like the Bazhir. I mean, he’s supposed to be fair and all—”
Ali Mukhtab grinned outright. “You are right. He is painfully correct with us, and he cannot stand the sight of us. Go on.”
“If that’s so, why are you—a Bazhir—the governor of his castle?”
Mukhtab turned his glass in his fingers. “Your friend Myles said you were intelligent. He did not say you were blunt.”
Alanna blushed. “Myles said that about me?” Her blush deepened. “I never said I was tactful,” she added.
“The post of governor in the castle of Persopolis goes by right to a Bazhir,” Ali Mukhtab explained. “Lord Martin cannot change that, although I know he has tried to. It is in the treaty with the Old King. I think our people would rise up if the king in the north tried to change the custom.”
“Over one castle position?” Alanna asked. “That seems a little—well, extreme.”
“There is a very good reason for that tradition,” the Bazhir explained. He looked out the window at the dimming sky. “In fact, if you and your friends can leave discreetly, I will show you all something interesting.”
Within a few minutes Alanna and her friends had assembled in a back hallway. Jonathan was the last to arrive; he had more difficulty sneaking away.
“If I hear one more noble tell me he’d like to see a green city once again before he dies—” the Prince muttered, his patience obviously worn thin. “What’s up?”
Alanna performed hasty introductions, and the young men followed the governor down the hallway.
“I must admit to surprise,” Ali Mukhtab was saying to Jonathan. “I did not think Alan’s message would lure you away from those who were so anxious to have you like them.”
“You took the sword by the point,” Jonathan replied, tweaking Alanna’s nose. “If I were anyone else, they wouldn’t have two words to say to me. But I’m the prince, and I think every man in that room wanted something from me—except Lord Martin,” he added, nodding to Geoffrey. “I didn’t come here to have people treating me as if I’m made of gold.”
They stopped before a wooden door. Mukhtab produced a brass key that matched the lock and handle. “This is the Sunset Roo
m,” he told them, unlocking the door. “Only the governor of the castle holds the key.”
The five boys looked at each other. This was the room Duke Roger had mentioned, the room built to watch the Black City. Its design was totally different from that of any other room in the castle. The stone floors and walls had been coated with small, brightly colored tiles, which formed pictures. Many were of the Black City and of the Bazhir. Alanna peered closely at the walls, touching them with gentle fingers.
“It’s very old,” she said finally.
“Even we do not know how old it is,” Ali Mukhtab replied. The door opened once again. Servants appeared with pillows and refreshments. The boys wandered over to the wall that looked out to the west. There was no window to block out the desert air. Only the posts supporting the ceiling separated the Sunset Room from the view.
The room was set high in the Persopolis wall. Before them stretched the Great Southern Desert, as far as their eyes could see. It was a magnificent sight, painted red-gold by the setting sun. The view’s only flaw was that it faced the west, and the dying light shone directly into their eyes.
Suddenly Jonathan pointed. “That small black speck—just where the sun is. That’s the Black City?”
