Prologue

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is part of the series

Bluthund- Virtual Community.

The titles in that series are

Blood Runes

The Star of Agartha

The Eagle's Nest

The Romanov Diadem

The Bluthund Community is an informal hermetic group formed on social networks. It brings together researchers from the most diverse disciplines, who collaborate in the resolution of difficult-to-manage cases. They have research methods that come from both the positive sciences and alternative knowledge, based on traditional wisdom, in arcana of different cultures.

Contents

Dramatis personæ

Glossary

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

From the Author

About the Author

Works by Cedric Daurio

Coordinates of Cedric Daurio

About the Publisher

Dramatis personæ

Hasan i Sabbah: Founder of the Nizari sect.

Rashid al-Din Sinan: The first "Old Man of the Mountain".

Hassan Jur Sha: Sole survivor of the Nizari sect.

Hulagu Kan: Grandson of Genghis Khan, destroyer of Alamut and of the Nizari sect.

Hassan Ali Sha: Known as Aga Khan.

Colonel William Blake Parker: Commander of a Bengal Lancers regiment in colonial India.

Basil Hawthorne: Alleged English traveler, journalist, and author.

Jack Berglund: Member of the Bluthund Community, specialist in ancient alphabets.

Lakshmi Dhawan: Woman born in India, member of the FBI.

Anila Ragnarsson: daughter of Lakshmi and Ingo Ragnarsson, Icelandic academic.

Keneisha Sullivan: Director at the FBI, Lakshmi Boss

Kadar Al ash Sheik: Wahhabi religious leader, born in Saudi Arabia. Descendant of Muhammad ibn al Wahhab, founder of the Wahabite sect.

Paddy O'Keefe: Captain of the New York Police Department.

Rory Flanagan: New York Police Commissioner.

Jefferson Clark: FBI Division Director.

Admiral B.C. Donnelly: Advisor to the State Department.

Dr.W.Richardson: Master of the Bluthund Community in New York.

Jerome Watkins: Master of Ceremonies at Bluthund events.

Madame Nadia Swarowska: Member of the Bluthund Management Committee

Suzuki Taro: Member of the Bluthund Management Committee.

Corrado Gherardi: former Jesuit priest who specializes in the history of religions.

Dr. Tarek al Khatib, Lebanese sect specialist.

Bill Finch: Officer of the Eisenhower aircraft carrier.

Matsuko: Young Ninja warrior.

Zev: Dual informant in the Gaza Strip.

Farhad Akbari: Iranian Dr. in Physics.

Ali: Iranian merchant, owner of a business in the Grand Bazaar of Tehran.

Mahmud: Driver and guide on the second trip to Alamut.

Glossary

Nizaris: Branch of the Ismaili sect of Shiite Islam that developed between the 10th and 13th centuries

Hashashin: member of the assassins sect, hashish consumers.

Shamshir: Persian curved saber, very sharp.

Katana: Slightly curved Japanese saber, single-edged, traditional samurai weapon.

Sharia: Islamic law based on the Koran.

Ayatollah: Echelon in the Shiite clergy hierarchy, second only to the "Grand Ayatollah." They are considered authorities in Islamic sciences, in particular theology, philosophy, jurisprudence, and morals.

Hojatoleslam: Third rank in the Shiite clergy, below the Ayatollahs.

Sensei: Japanese Martial Arts: Master. Literally: "the one who has walked the path."

Huríes: in Islam, the virgin dancers, endowed with special charms and eternally young waiting for the warriors to have sexual relations with them.

Prologue

East Persia” 1256 AD

He was running desperately down the slopes of the hills, hurting his legs with the sharp edges of the rocks that projected onto the narrow ledge path that fate had set before him to escape his pursuers. After the bloody ambush they had set against the Mongols, these had regrouped and rammed against them in a brief but extremely violent combat in which the invaders from the East ended up imposing their number on the followers of the Prophet. The battlefield witnessed a true butchery where few were left alive.

Once it became clear that he had no way of defeating the barbarians, he turned his horse toward the only exit that seemed practicable in the direction of the narrow valley. A Mongolian arrow ended the steed's run and he was violently flung to the hard rock floor. Glancing back, he saw four Tatars following in his footsteps closely, and he commended himself to Allah, determined to sell dearly his life. He climbed the steep slope of the valley to a kind of narrow path carved by the elements of which he had no idea where it was leading, but the truth was that if the Mongols were to chase him along the path, they should also do it on foot, losing the advantage that they had when they were mounted. As he reached the top of the hillside and onto the trail a new arrow pierced his pants, biting into the flesh of his leg. Again he turned his head and found that the followers had also left their horses and began the ascent of the ravine. The final fight would then be in a very difficult environment but the superiority of the Mongols as riders at least disappeared from the scene, although they were still one against four. When ascending the mountain, low clouds began to appear, obstructing the view, so that the persecuted had to take extreme precautions not to roll down the ravine towards the unfathomable abyss that was progressively deeper, but at the same time he had to hurry so that the distance that separated him from his stubborn pursuers did not decrease. At one point he came to a bend where the trail turned around the hillside, not allowing him to see what was on the other side while narrowing even further. He placed one foot on the hidden opposite side and prepared to launch his body into the void to revolve around the bend. At that moment a certain Mongolian arrow hit his right shoulder, tearing the flesh. Although the wound was not fatal, the impact and pain made him lose his balance in the delicate trance and his hands stopped grasping the rock wall. Hassan Jur Sha plunged into the endless abyss and in his last moments of lucidity he only saw the continuous wall of rock through which he was falling.

The beautiful Huris danced around him, sliding their voluptuous bodies to the beat of the melody, barely touching him with their fine silk veils from China. Hassan felt an unstoppable desire and tried to reach one of the women with his hands and tear off the veil. A scream of pain erupted from his mouth as his hands clawed at the empty space. Slowly the conscience returned to him, struggling with his desire to remain in the Garden of Eden where he had been happy only once in his life thanks to a concession from the Old Man, and that had left in his memory an imprint so vivid that his sole objective in life was to return to that place even if it was ephemeral.

Reality prevailed despite his efforts and he soon recognized that he was not in a garden but on a narrow strip of rock on the steep slope of the mountain, which had providentially stopped his fall and saved his life, at least for those moments. The site was small and partially occupied by big eggs of large birds, which lay on straw, no doubt brought by the parents. Overcoming his vertigo Hassan looked into the emptiness and saw that large birds circled the site, no doubt seeking to expel the intruder.

“Very appropriately, an eagles nest.” He thought.

The young man looked then at his bruised body and tried to move but the pain prevented it. He slid his gaze upward looking for any practicable way out of the saving strip that had become a trap. Finally his eyes located a series of projections of the rock that led upward toward the trail from which he had fallen, but had no way of knowing if they reached the upper path; it was his only option anyway, and he knew he would eventually have to try to climb. However at that time Hassan was unable to move due to the pain, and he settled down to wait. He touched the ground beneath his body and saw that his scimitar had miraculously fallen below him so he grasped it; if he did finally manage to climb, he would need it.

His mind was lost in a sleepy state, in which the reminiscences of the Houris were mixed with sad memories. His thoughts ran through the latest events since the fall of the Alamut fortress, the captivity of the last surviving member of the sect, their calamitous march to Mongolia led by Patriarch Jur Sha, his grandfather, the massacre of the entire family at the hands of the captors who tormented them for fun, and his escape after slicing off the neck of the two drunk Mongols who came to kill him using the sword of one of them. The young man reflected that he was the last living descendant of Rashid al-Din Sinan, the legendary Old Man who had terrorized the sultans and emirs from Syria to Persia.

No! Hassan Jur Sha would not end his days in an eagles' nest on a lost hillside.

III

When he finally climbed the trail he threw himself exhausted on the ground, after confirming that the Mongols were not in the vicinity. After resting for a while he stood up, trying to avoid the disturbing void sight, took his scimitar from the floor and tried to orient himself. Far away, walking along the path but several bends ahead, his eyes saw the Mongols who were chasing him, who surely had not noticed his fall into the abyss had already continued their stubborn chase, no doubt spurred on by some reward offered by their bosses for kill the last remnant of the family. The men had gone on and Hassan saw their backs. His first reaction was to retrace his steps on the path that had led him there and put distance with the Mongols sneaking off on some secondary path hidden by brush, but something stopped him. If the Mongols returned empty-handed, they would give their leaders notice of his survival, and the persecution would continue endlessly, and ultimately they would find him somewhere in the sprawling Mongol empire. No! For his future life and the revival of his cause he must be had to be presumed dead. For this, the four Tartars who were chasing him had to perish and with them all memories of his presence on Earth. Hassan turned on his heel and headed after the men who wanted to kill him, brandishing his scimitar. The fight was still four to one, but now he was behind and had become the pursuer. He would fall on their back by surprise and throw them off the cliff.

India- Spring 1848

Forcing his camel to bend on his knees and getting off him, his face showed a gesture of relief. At forty, his hips ached after prolonged efforts, and despite his strenuous youth, the years were already weighing on him.

After receiving the title of Aga Khan from the Shah of Iran Fath Ali, Hassan had known certain comforts that in his previous life he had lacked and had become accustomed to them.

Hassan Ali Sha, a direct descendant of Jur Sha through his ancestor also named Hassan, the only member of the family of the Old Man who had survived the Mongol massacre in Alamut and the other Persian cities, had finally reached India. His historic mission would be to bring together Khodjas, descendants of the Nizari diaspora and quite numerous in that country, but for that he had to negotiate with the English, the true owners. Hassan Ali had received his title of Aga Khan, and also the religious hierarchy that granted him being the forty-sixth Nizari imam and therefore spiritual head of all the members of that Ismaili sect.

The head of the English garrison, Colonel William Blake Parker, left the command building to greet the newcomer dryly, overcoming his racial prejudice. He was magnificently attired in his impeccable red jacket, gleaming boots, and decorations from a hundred battles at the head of his Bengal Lancers, the glorious regiment under his command. Several of his British officers were with him, and Hassan was also able to observe a civilian, dressed in a beige jacket and a cork helmet that made him look more like an explorer in Africa than a representative of His Majesty in India.

Hassan and three companions were taken to a major guest house so they could dust off the desert sand, wash, and change their clothes. Lunch would be served in two hours, so they could also get some rest.

The table was extremely long, and the English officers of the regiment sat at it. Hassan had a chair reserved in front of Colonel Parker's and noticed that the English civilian sat next to the latter, while his two companions were taken to lunch with the troops. The food was exquisite and Hassan had trouble remembering when he had been entertained in such a way. As the English do not give knotless stitches, he guessed that the expectations placed on him were high.

Indian servants dressed colorfully and in white gloves served the courses and dessert. Perhaps because it was still noon and having a Muslim guest, no alcoholic beverages were served during or after lunch.

At one point the officers withdrew and left Colonel Parker, Hassan, and the civilian, who was only then introduced as Basil Hawthorne, a journalist and writer by profession.

Parker opened the conversation with his dry style, austere in words but precise and clear. After his stay at the regiment headquarters Hassan was be taken, happily in a carriage, to Bombay where he would meet with the very top of the English authorities in India. He would be in charge of the reorganization of the Ismaili community in the subcontinent, a rank that not even his ancestors had had. Hassan was waiting for the counterpart that they expected of him to be mentioned, but the colonel did not satisfy that curiosity. He got up saying.

"You will excuse me, but I must meet with my men to supervise a cavalry charge practice that will take place in three hours. I leave you in the company of our guest Mr. Hawthorne.”

Hassan wondered if the military man had ever smiled in his life, but that thought was immediately replaced by a more practical one. At last the mystery of the civilian's presence at his reception was revealed. Hawthorne was actually a spy and would be the one to explain the conditions of the English to recognize to him the title of chief of the Ismailis in India.

The conversation was friendly and the Englishman explained the geopolitical situation in the Asian continent, including the confrontation between the English and Russian empires, called the Great Game (to which other secondary games were added between the British colonial power and the fierce Afghan tribes of the northwest of Hindustan, that gigantic subcontinent that included what would later become India and Pakistan.

At one point Hawthorne openly showed the game and said.

“Like yourself, I am a civilian and I do not believe in battles that leave the fields covered in dead and the cities full of invalids who can only ask for alms. The selective elimination of turbulent leaders is an infinitely more sensible and pious method of ... let's call it pacification.”

Hassan asked hypocritically.

“What do you expect my role in this "pacification" to be?”

The Englishman replied immediately without blushing.

“We know that not only faith in Islam has remained among the Nizaris. Also the practices and rites of martial arts developed in the castle of Alamut and that they retain their willingness to put them into practice. We also know that you yourself are one of the greatest exponents of these arts and your orders to your subjects are immediately obeyed by them.”

Masks had finally fallen, the English wanted to turn the Nizaris into their hit men in India to eliminate pesky leaders.

Hindu Kush- 1848

The night fell on the eagles nest built on the peak of one of the mountains of the mountain range called Hindu Kush ("Slayer of Hindus" in Persian)

A very slight click broke the silence of the night when the hook fell on the loophole of the wall. Immediately three figures dressed in black climbed the long rope that allowed them to ascend the thirty meters high of the wall. One of the Afghan sentries thought he had heard something and approached the source of the sound lazily, only to fall with his throat pierced by a silent arrow so he could not make any sound. The three shadows entered the rampart of the wall and moved nimbly in the dark. Three other sleepy sentries were slashed with total stealth, and once inside the castle the three intruders walked through the rock-cut rooms, slaughtering all the sleeping occupants to ensure a safe retreat. Finally they found what undoubtedly was the place they were looking for.

Emir Wazir Akabar Khan slept peacefully with his head resting on his concubine's lap. Two accurate blows of shamsir (the Persian curved sabers) killed both lovers and at the same time with one of the most seasoned enemies of the English Empire in India.

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