The First Fortress

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Transoxiana,

Seljuk Empire.

1087 Common Era.

The fire had devastated almost the entire campsite. Only the tents on the western end, shielded by the hills, survived. The rest were no more than ashes. On the eastern end, men lay on the ground lifelessly, killed not by the fire, but by the arrows embedded in their chests and foreheads. Evidently, there had been a raid before the fire occurred, and whoever carried it out burnt most of whatever, and whoever, was left of the camp.

Approaching the campsite on his mount slowly, Kizilboga observed the dead bodies of the guards, the terror in their faces indicating that whoever they saw before they were shot were neither little in number, nor were they a pretty lot.

The fourteen-year-old boy dismounted cautiously, looking around as if the raiders would suddenly appear over the sandy hills to finish their jobs. The combined scents of death and smoke filled his nose as he walked in between the lifeless bodies, leading his horse by his reins. His gaze searched whatever was left of the campsite, and his eyes landed on the western tents, which he exhaled in relief upon seeing. Whoever he was looking for would be there, he hoped.

Mounting his horse, he trotted through the ravaged encampment towards the dusty slopes. He prayed silently that the people he was looking for had survived the raid. "O Allah," he whispered. "Please let my aunt and her family be alive. I beg you." Although he still fostered a tiny flame of hope in his heart, the realisation that no-one in the western end could have survived was, like a soft wind, slowly quenching that flame.

Even though he knew that he wouldn't find his aunt here, Kizilboga was disappointed when he discovered that this section of the camp had not been overlooked by the raiders. Although they hadn't burnt this area, they hadn't hesitated to put everyone here to the sword. He grimly regarded the thirty-odd dead bodies, searching for his aunt, her husband, and her two-year-old daughter among the deceased. He'd never met his aunt's husband, as the latter had come to the camp six days ago, a day after Kizilboga left for an urgent journey, so any one of these men could be him. Kizilboga hoped that wasn't the case.

The more Kizilboga searched for his three relatives, the more apparent it became to him that they weren't here. He closed his eyes as he stopped in front of his aunt's tent, preparing himself for whatever sight he would meet on the other side of the curtain door.

After a few moments, the boy brushed the curtain aside and stepped into the tent. He sighed relievedly when he saw no lifeless body inside. The raiders had evidently entered this tent, he comprehended, as he observed the armour stand of his aunt's husband lying on the ground, and the drawers left open, as if whoever attacked the campsite was looking for something here.

It was then, as he stared at the open drawers, that he grasped exactly who had attacked the camp.

Four years earlier, his aunt had married Demir Bey, a prince of a neighbouring state, the Karakhanids, who had left the royal family of his empire and travelled west. He had taken a precious relic from the Karakhanids, which they sought to retake. After many years moving around the western Transoxianan steppes, which were controlled by the Seljuk Sultanate, Demir had joined the White Bearded Organisation, the group which acted as the senior guides of the Oghuz Turks. It was then that his possession of the relic was revealed to the Karakhanids by a traitor who worked among the White Bearded.

Kizilboga concluded that the Karakhanids must have learnt that Demir was staying in this camp, which was intended for the students and teachers of the Nizamiyyah University. Kizilboga's aunt, Maryam, had been a teacher of language in the institute, so her husband had been staying with her as her group travelled from Merv to the northwest, where the students were meant to study with other Turkic groups.