Prince of Persia, Page 3

  “A good man would have done as you did,” the king responded. “But a great man would have stopped the attack from happening at all. A great man would have stopped what he knew to be wrong no matter who was ordering it.

  “What I saw in that square was a boy capable of being more than just good, but of being great,” Sharaman went on, referring to the day many years ago when he rescued Dastan. He looked deep into his eyes. “Tell me, Dastan. Was I right to hope for so much?”

  “I wish I could tell you, Father,” Dastan whispered, the weight of the question heavy on his shoulders.

  Sharaman smiled. “One day, in your own way, you will.”

  He hugged Dastan, and the crowd cheered again. Dastan hugged him back tightly. Then Dastan remembered the present that Tus had given him.

  “I have something for you,” he said with a smile, handing him the gift. “The prayer robe of Alamut’s regent.”

  The king smiled, too. Opening the present, he held it up for the people to see. Then he pulled the robe on. “What can I grant you in return?” he asked his son.

  Dastan nodded to Roham, who escorted Princess Tamina over to the king.

  “This is Princess Tamina,” Dastan told him. “Tus wishes to make a union with her people through marriage.”

  Dastan hesitated for a moment, worried about what he might be faced with if the king refused Tus’s request.

  “It’s my deepest wish that this win your approval,” Dastan added sincerely.

  The king looked at Tamina, her big eyes filled with anger, pride, and sadness. “In all my travels, I’ve never laid eyes on a more beautiful city, Your Highness.”

  “You should have seen it before your horde of camel-riding illiterates descended upon it,” she replied.

  A shocked hush fell over the room, and Dastan shot her a look. This wasn’t exactly what he meant when he told her to exhibit humility.

  “But thank you for noticing,” she added.

  If the others were offended, Sharaman was not. He thought she was brave and noble. These were the same qualities he had seen in Dastan years before—which gave him an idea.

  “Clearly she will make a fine queen,” Sharaman said. “But Tus already has enough wives.”

  He looked squarely at Dastan. “You might take fewer chances if such a jewel waited in your chambers,” he continued. “The princess of Alamut will be your first wife. What do you say, Dastan?”

  Dastan was stunned into silence.

  Sharaman turned to the nobles. “He plunges into a hundred foes without thought, but before marriage he stands frozen with fear. And there are some who say he is not yet wise?”

  The nobles laughed, and so did Sharaman. But in an instant his laughter turned into screams of agony.

  “The robe,” Sharaman gasped. “It burns.”

  Garsiv rushed to his father and tried to pull the robe off him. But as soon as he touched the fabric, his fingers got so hot he had to let go.

  “God help us!” Nizam screamed. “The robe is poisoned!”

  Suddenly Garsiv’s face filled with fury. “The robe Dastan gave him!” he shouted.

  “Father!” Dastan screamed as he ran to him and cradled his head in his hands.

  “Dastan,” the king pleaded as he looked into his son’s eyes. “Why?”

  “Father, no!”

  It was too late. King Sharaman was dead. Without a moment’s hesitation, Garsiv turned to his guards.

  “Seize him!” he ordered. “Seize the murderer!”

  In moments, the room was filled with the sound of heavy footsteps as the guards raced toward Dastan. But he was too stunned to move. He just looked down at his dead father, his own heart near breaking.

  Seeing the danger his leader faced, Bis bravely stepped between him and the guards. He drew his sword.

  “Run, my prince!” Bis cried. “Go!”

  Still, Dastan did not move. Reaching over, Bis pulled the prince to his feet and shoved him toward the door—just as a spear pierced him through the stomach. Groaning, Bis fell to the floor.

  The death of his closest friend finally snapped Dastan into action. Filled with fury, he drew the Alamutian Dagger and began wielding it like a man gone mad. For a brief moment, he seemed to have the upper hand—but then a guard attacked from behind. Luckily, Princess Tamina was there and hit the guard over the head with a vase.

  She had witnessed everything from her place in the Great Hall. She could not let Dastan escape—or be killed for that matter—without first getting the Dagger back. If that meant helping him, she would do it.

  Stunned by Tamina’s actions, Dastan paused.

  But only momentarily. He had to get out of there—fast. He scanned the room for an escape route. There were too many people between him and the door. It would have to be the window.

  He jumped, and so did Tamina. Both of them fell through the air and landed in the fountain below with a giant splash.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Dastan asked as they stood up in the fountain. He was stunned she had followed him. Was she that desperate to avoid marriage to Tus?

  “You may occupy this city,” Tamina told him. “But you don’t know its secrets. I can get us out of here!”

  Dastan didn’t want Tamina slowing him down. But she had a point. He looked back up toward the third floor, where Garsiv now loomed in the window. They had no time to argue. He nodded his assent.

  They ran through the courtyard and down an alley that led to the stables where Garsiv and his cavalry had put their horses. Quickly, they set all of the horses free—except for one. Aksh, the most famous stallion in all of Persia—once the king’s, now Garsiv’s—and the fastest.

  Within moments, they were galloping through a secret tunnel that ran beneath the city. Dastan looked back to see if they were being followed and was happy that they weren’t. But when he turned around again, he was horrified to see that they were charging right at a closed gate.

  The prince braced for a collision. But Tamina deftly pulled out his sword, whipped it in a big loop, and struck a hidden lever.

  The gate flew open. Dastan let out a little gasp of relief as Aksh burst out of the tunnel. Soon they were racing through the desert night, Alamut fading behind them.

  Chapter Seven

  Dastan and Tamina rode across the desert for hours, stopping only when they reached the banks of a stream.

  There was no question Garsiv would send out a search party at dawn’s first light. But for now, Dastan and Tamina were safe.

  They were quiet as they caught their breath and Aksh drank from the river. The moon cast shadows on the rippling water, and the air was refreshingly cool.

  Reaching his hand into the stream, Dastan let the water gently roll over his fingers. His eyes were downcast, his thoughts hidden.

  “Dastan,” Tamina said hesitantly. When he did not reply, she repeated his name.

  Finally, he spoke. “This stream is a tributary of the river that runs through Nasaf,” he told her. “The water they’ll use to wash his body.”

  Dastan’s words were soft and full of pain. Tamina stared at him for a moment. “You mourn the father you murdered?” she asked, confused by his reaction.

  Dastan looked up, his eyes angry—and pained. “I did not murder my father.”

  Tamina knew better than to say anything. She could see his words were truthful.

  Noticing a wound on her arm, Dastan went through the motions of cleaning it. Anything to get his mind off his sadness. He reached into the horse’s saddlebags and pulled out a piece of fabric to use as a bandage.

  “It was foolish of you to add my troubles to your own,” he told her.

  “I saw how you looked at me when that blade was at my throat,” she said softly, referring to their first encounter, when Tus had instructed his guard to kill her. “You were ready to risk everything for me. I saw that in your eyes.”

  Dastan looked up, surprised, then instinctively moved closer. “I swore to my brother I’d
take your life, rather than let any other have you.”

  Tamina looked into his eyes and the mood became almost romantic. She flashed a flirtatious smile.

  “A dilemma,” she said of their situation. “The obvious solution would be to kiss me, then kill me.”

  She moved closer still, her lips almost touching his.

  “But I have a better solution,” she continued. “I kill you, and your problems are solved.”

  Dastan laughed, but Tamina wasn’t joking.

  She hadn’t been moving closer to kiss him. She had been after the Dagger!

  She reached for it, but Dastan was too fast and slapped her hand away, knocking the Dagger to the ground. Undaunted, she drew a sword from Aksh’s saddle and started to swing it wildly.

  For a soldier as accomplished as Dastan, this was more humorous than threatening. He held Tamina back with one hand and picked up the Dagger with the other.

  “Perhaps we can find a third solution,” he joked.

  Holding the Dagger in his hand, his thumb traced the engraving. Suddenly he pressed down on the jewel in the handle. A bit of the bright white sand inside it poured out.

  As the sand fell, the world around Dastan stopped. Light and sound contorted, and then everything suddenly seemed to move backward.

  When the movement stopped, Tamina was once again leaning in toward Dastan.

  “But I have a better solution,” Tamina said— again. “I kill you, and your problems are solved.”

  She was repeating her actions and words from seconds earlier, but was completely unaware of it.

  Just as she had before, she reached for the Dagger and Dastan reflexively knocked her hand away. But, this time, when she drew the sword from Aksh’s saddle, he was too confused and distracted. He didn’t reach out and stop her, and she slashed him across the stomach.

  He fell to the ground, grasping his stomach. “Give back what you stole, Persian defiler!” she demanded, pointing at the Dagger with her sword.

  He looked down at it. Was it possible . . . ?

  “No!” Tamina yelled as he pressed the jewel. Once again the sand fell from the handle, and the world around him reversed.

  The wounds in his stomach magically disappeared. When the last grains of sand fell from the handle, the action restarted.

  “But I have a better solution—” she said for the third time. Now, though, Dastan knew what to expect and interrupted her.

  “Go for that sword again and I’ll break your arm!”

  “Again?” Tamina asked, confused. Then she looked down and saw that the Dagger’s handle was empty. Her eyes grew wide.

  “You’ve used up all the sand!” she exclaimed.

  Dastan looked at the Dagger’s empty handle.

  He pushed the jewel again. This time nothing happened.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Tamina didn’t answer.

  “Incredible,” he said, piecing it together. “Releasing the sand turns back time, and only the holder of the Dagger is aware of what happened.”

  He looked at her to see if her reaction confirmed he was right. “He can go back, alter events, change time—and no one knows but him.”

  As he said this, Dastan began to think about all of its possibilities.

  “How much can it unwind?” he demanded. “Answer me, Princess.”

  “You destroyed my city,” she said angrily. Was he pompous enough to think she would just hand over information?

  Dastan shook his head. “We had intelligence you were arming our enemies.”

  Tamina scoffed. “You had the lies of a Persian spy.”

  Dastan thought about this for a moment. The only proof they had was what the spy had told them. No one else had seen the caravan he’d intercepted. And Tus and his soldiers hadn’t found any weapons forges in the city yet.

  “Our invasion wasn’t about weapons forges,” he said, as much a question as a statement. “It was about this Dagger.”

  “Clever prince,” Tamina said bitingly.

  “After the battle, Tus asked for this Dagger as tribute,” Dastan went on, ignoring the Princess’s sarcasm. “I didn’t think anything of it. But it was him. He gave me the gift that killed our father. He stands to be crowned king. With this Dagger, he could change course at a critical moment of a battle. He’d be invincible.” Dastan stopped, as if the next words were stuck in his throat. “Tus is behind it all.”

  Far away, in the newly seized palace of Alamut, Tus paced. He was no longer the crown prince of Persia. He now wore the robes of the king.

  He had written a decree which had been copied onto a hundred scrolls. These scrolls were attached to royal messenger falcons to be carried to the far reaches of the empire. The message was to be read and posted in every market, temple, and village square. It said:

  My Loyal Subjects,

  I share your heartbreak over the death of our beloved king. That it came at Prince Dastan’s hand only makes our pain worse. As such, I have doubled the reward for his capture. My treacherous brother must be brought to justice.

  King Sharaman will soon be laid to rest in a manner befitting his glory. I invite all our subjects to mourn his passing. But rest assured our empire remains stable, in the hands of a strong leader.

  A new reign has begun.

  * * *

  As the falcons filled the night sky, the new king turned to his bodyguard and gave him one instruction.

  “Arrest Dastan’s men,” he ordered. “Put them where they’ll never see the light of day.”

  Chapter Eight

  That night, Dastan and Tamina made camp along the bank of the stream. Dastan was too distraught to sleep for more than a few fitful minutes. Instead, he kept reliving the horrible events from Alamut. His father was dead, and everyone thought he was responsible. Yet his own brother had killed his father and was now intent on killing him. His world was collapsing. But by sunrise he had devised a plan.

  Tus had to be stopped. To do that, Dastan needed help.

  He needed his uncle Nizam.

  When Tamina woke, she found Dastan shredding a blanket and wrapping the fabric around Aksh’s hooves.

  “What are you doing?” Tamina asked.

  “Garsiv can’t be far behind us,” he explained. “Aksh is the most famous horse in the empire. This will obscure his tracks.”

  “Tracks where?” Tamina asked. “Where are you going?”

  “The holy city of Avrat, where Persian kings are buried,” he replied. “My uncle Nizam will be there for my father’s funeral. He’s the only one I can trust. He’ll listen to me, see I was set up by Tus.”

  Sliding the Dagger into his belt, he climbed up onto the back of the stallion. The pain and frustration of the previous night had now turned into anger and determination.

  “You’re wanted for the king’s murder,” she said, stepping in front of the horse. Despite the bad night of sleep and the previous day’s events, she still looked every bit the beautiful—and stubborn— princess. “And you’re going to march into his funeral alongside thousands of Persian soldiers?”

  “Step aside, Princess!”

  Tamina stood her ground. “Every road to Avrat will be covered with Persian troops.”

  Dastan smiled. “I’m not taking roads,” he replied. “I’m going through the Valley of the Slaves.”

  Tamina’s eyes grew wide. Was he joking? The Valley of the Slaves was rumored to be a terrifying place. Parents threatened their children with trips to the valley if they misbehaved.

  “You’ll never even make it to Avrat,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest. “Your whole plan is suicide!”

  Dastan looked down at her, his eyes burning with determination. “My brother murdered my father and framed me for the crime,” he said. “If I die trying to set that right, so be it.”

  Tamina knew there was no reasoning with him. Her concern, however, was not Dastan’s safety. Nor was it the search for justice. Her concern was the Dagger that was still tuck
ed into his belt. She had failed to retrieve it the night before. She wasn’t going to quit until she got it back.

  Whether Dastan liked it or not, Tamina was going with him.

  The Valley of the Slaves was as desolate a landscape as existed on earth. A molten red sun blazed above an endless sea of sand as hot as fire.

  Despite the harsh conditions, some humans managed to survive and travel across it. Many were former slaves and criminals who had come to hide from the people who would imprison them. Most, though, were Bedouins, a nomadic tribe who roamed across the barren terrain managing to carve out a meager existence.

  Alone in the middle of the desert, two Bedouins made the slow and arduous journey across the valley. Or at least, two people who were dressed like Bedouins. They were in fact Dastan and Tamina. In an effort to disguise themselves, they had traded clothes with an elderly nomadic couple.

  Even in this remote area, they could not afford to be seen wearing the gleaming armor and robes of royalty. They would be in grave danger if they were spied by any thieves who might suspect they carried valuables. And they would be in more danger if they were spotted by anyone aware of the reward being offered for Dastan’s capture.

  “I don’t mind the coarse fabric and clumsy needlework,” Tamina complained as she tried to get comfortable in the clothes she had gotten from the woman. “I do mind the unmistakable scent of camel urine.”

  Dastan couldn’t help but snicker. He was leading Aksh by the reins and stopped long enough to get a whiff of her as she passed by.

  “I think it suits you,” he offered with a smile. Tamina did not return it.

  They continued to walk a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Dastan looked down at the Dagger with its empty handle and then looked out at the desert sand that seemed to go forever. Would ordinary desert sand do the trick? he wondered.

  He kneeled over and grabbed a handful of sand which he poured into the handle. Maybe he could turn back time and make this whole awful mess disappear.

  “Without the right sand,” Tamina assured him, “it’s just another knife.”