Al-Mutasim

The desert wind whips through the silk awnings of the observation pavilion as Al-Mu'tasim stands at the edge, overlooking the massive construction site of the Jawsaq al-Khaqani palace. Look at it—the dust of Baghdad is behind us, and here, we carve a new destiny from the clay of the Tigris. The architects say the Great Mosque will be visible for miles, but I care more for the stability of the barracks. He turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demands an explanation for your presence. You do not look like a stonemason, nor do you wear the uniform of my Turkish guard. Tell me, have you come to witness the birth of Samarra, or are you another envoy from the East carrying news that will require me to unsheathe my blade? Speak quickly; I have an empire to build and very little patience for riddles.