The Golden Path

By Brian Pettera

"Tell your Padishah that the stars fortell that this deed you do will be returned one hundred fold. That the Eye of Kali will be your reward. It will be waiting for you in Kabool."

A bloodthirsty clan of vampires. An ancient sword of unimaginable power. And a path that leads straight into the lair of a mythical adversary. The debut novella by Brian Pettera.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bards and Sages Publishing
• Release date: Jan 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452310695

Book preview

The Golden Path

By

Brian A.  Pettera

Edited by Julie Ann Dawson and Faith Carroll

Cover illustration by Sanjana Baijnath

©2009 Bards and Sages Publishing

www.bardsandsages.com

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En-LIGHT-en-ment—The state attained when the cycle of reincarnation ends and human desire and suffering are transcended.

The Mughals swept down the subcontinent like their Timurian ancestors had from Kesh. These fierce, steppe dwelling tribesmen had, in a few decades, transformed from herders and tenders to an implacable, unstoppable scourge. Led by Babur, he and his hordes, succeeded in taming most of India and Persia. Also like their Timurian ancestors, behind the Mughal leaders were the Sayeh, People of the Shadow. Little was known of them and those that pried too deeply into their secrets, well, suffice to say, little was found of them. The only thing that remained was the rumors that clung to their presence like a dark shroud wherever they were. Rumors of death, rumors of blood...

The three riders broke out over the ridge and paused, their horses restless, as they gazed down at the vale below them. The moon’s baleful light illuminated the scene and the three Sayeh waited as their eyes adjusted to make the details clear. Snow dotted the slopes and a couple of miles down into the valley the town lay spread out like a tapestry on the floor below. Lights dotted here and there splashing out of the windows of cottages in the early evening. Across the valley, to the north, a faint trail led up to a magnificent edifice shining with internal fires built into the surrounding mountain. The youngest of the group, Zhobin, pointed across the valley, The towers, they glisten like icy daggers by the moons light! Is this the place?

Arash nodded. He reached into his fur vest and pulled out a worn leather scroll case, its ornate leatherwork faintly discernable. Pulling off the end, he pulled out a wrinkled, stained piece of parchment. Squinting, he read from the flowing Chagatai script. And behold! As the journey ends, the true journey begins within the walls that glisten like the diamond's tears. Here starts The Golden Path that is the door that will lead to Shambhala.

They had been traveling for months. When their journey started, they had been four and twenty strong. Their honor guard three-score and grim-faced; the elite cavalry and the pride of the Mughal Emperor, Humayun son of Babur. On an intelligence gathering mission for the Padishah, their Emperor, they had been entertained by the Shah Tahmasp at his capitol in the city of Ardabil. Nights of feasting followed with a small favor asked for future consideration.

Tell your Padishah that the stars foretell that this deed you do will be returned a hundred fold. That and the Eye of Kali will be your reward. It will be waiting for you in Kabool.

Not bothering to consult with any of their intrinsic superiors, as none were conveniently close and the Shah had insisted that the matter was of great urgency, Arash and his cavalry rode southwest for three weeks until they reached the solid walls of Baghdad. Their coming had apparently been expected, as the mayor of Baghdad, Teymour Mahdavi-Kia, met them at the gates personally. Mahdavi-Kia, a Sunni appointee of the Ottoman Emperor Suleiman, showered greetings on the Mughal delegation, yet despite his feigned words of welcome his cold eyes revealed the truth of his displeasure.

Arash determined that the tales of Hulagu Khan’s assault on Baghdad were fresh in the mayor’s mind, though it had occurred almost three hundred years earlier. But Mahdavi-Kia held his position in suffrage of Suleiman, who wouldn’t be particularly pleased if, at best, the man were to insult a delegation of a potential ally, or at worst, infuriate a potential rival.

Nights passed as feasts and talks were held. The Mughal had made no effort to play the part of good houseguests. They drank and ate in excess, and their warriors tended to pick fights with anyone that appeared to know how to wield a sword. Talks were strained, and their arrogant and often brutish manners had offended almost everyone in Teymour’s court.

It had come to a head during a private dinner between Teymour’s and Arash’s most trusted men. Teymour had stood up to admonish Zhobin for the leering, lascivious comment the Mughal had made towards Teymour’s beautiful young wife in her presence. As he rebuked the upstart, his face had suddenly turned red as his eyes bulged. He grabbed desperately at his own throat, and then pitched forward face first into the lamb with saffron couscous. Teymour's wife gasped and tried reviving her husband. Arash's group eyed each other expectantly.

Little early don’t you think? Arash quipped.

Zhobin shrugged, I’m not the expert on The Gift. Hadi is.

What have you done? He’s been poisoned! screamed the wife. Murderers!

Arash looked at his two lieutenants as the sound of armored feet rushed from the hall.

Do what you need to do and let's get going. He whipped out his talwar and crossing to the door, tore it open in front of several arriving guards. The guards proved only a minor distraction. He then waited impatiently as his companions sated their appetites: Hadi sating his on the mayor’s blood, and Zhobin on the screams of the mayor’s wife as he forced himself on her. They finally joined Arash in the hall, blood covering their clothes and grins covering their faces.

Arash rolled his eyes, still listening for more guards. If you two are done, we need to go.

Zhobin grinned even wider. I let her live, bled her good and then told her she'd be like us soon. You should have seen the look on her face.

Hadi shook his head as they jogged down the back stairs towards the stables. I keep telling this young terror of yours to stop playing with his food.

Arash scowled, not sharing in his companion’s mirth.

They retrieved the rest of their men and they departed in haste. They met little resistance in the city itself, but upon breaching the walls they encountered a small Janissary force armed with muskets. They attempted to ride through the troops, not expecting the withering hail of musket fire. In the chaos that ensued,