The Kazan Valley was neither big nor famous. The Nile Valley to the west and the Euphrates Valley to the east were bigger, more famous, and had much bigger rivers. The Kazan River was so small it ran only in the winter and spring. In summer and fall its valley was a wasteland of brown scrub and gray dust, a fit living place only for lizards, bugs, and snakes.
But twenty years ago settlers came from the village of Induslan, a long day’s walk away over hills. Now throughout summer water flowed from wells and irrigation ditches into a few lush fields. The early settlers’ hard work now produced rich harvests of figs, dates, and vegetables for their sons and daughters. Sambi Oasis was populated with second generation farmers and first generation merchants.
At the time of our story, camel caravans came through the Kazan valley on their way to the port of Tyre. Sambi wells provided water, Sambi farmers provided food and fodder, and Sambi artisans repaired the camels’ leather saddles and tackle. The caravan masters spent generously on refreshments. As they relaxed in the plazas about the marketplace at day’s end over coffee, wine, and fruits, they offered advice.
“Build for success, but remember that greed pursues success relentlessly,” advised the caravan masters. “Your plan for a wagon road between Tyre and Induslan is ambitious and should bring you riches. But you may want to build a city wall first so those riches aren’t taken away from you. The world is larger than you think. Tyre isn’t the biggest city in the world, and Induslani warriors aren’t the fiercest.”
The merchants’ advice proved prudent. Sambi did not yet have a wall when, in the next valley Induslan found itself attacked by an army from a distant land. The warriors rode horses the size of camels and carried great swords and long lances. Many of the leaders wore iron armor from head to toe, and their horses were caparisoned in iron—giant iron men on giant iron horses.
The Induslani men assembled armed, as they thought prudent, at the foot of their valley, ready to give these Iron Men food, fodder, even women had they asked for them. But the strange warriors asked for nothing understandable. When the imam shouted a greeting, they answered only with gibberish and waved their stained banners with the large crosses on them. They attacked the Induslani, killing any too slow to run away. The men ran back up the valley and everyone left the village as quickly as they could.
The Iron Men took over the empty village and three days later they left it a smoking ruin. Then these strange warriors marched back down the valley, presumably to wherever they came from.
What brought them to the village? When would they return? Why had they turned and gone back after burning Induslan? No one could guess.
While the Induslani men pondered these questions, they sent their families to Sambi. As close and distant relatives showed up at every house, the oasis doubled in size.
One boy, Aladdin, had told his father and uncles, “I want to be a warrior. I want to fight!”
“Next year, when you are sixteen, you will be old enough,” they said. “But this year you must stay in Sambi and help the women, children, and old men.”
The men rode back to Induslan.
And that is how Aladdin and his younger brother, Almanzor, were in Sambi on that hot July afternoon when our story begins.