A/N This is my first fanfic, but I have been reading them for a while so hopefully I do okay. Oh yeah, and Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or Calormene, they belong to C.S Lewis.
Chapter 1
Dust and heat defined the crowded marketplace.
People of all ranks, shapes and sizes had gathered from miles around. For it was the time of the annual Insshalla Tesrok festival, a week where the people celebrated Tash's blessings on the Tisroc. Each year they congregated in the public squares and marketplaces of cities and towns. During the day they bought, sold and traded, and worshiped Tash and other gods at the local temple. During the night, they partied…
It was now midday and, although the heat was now unbearable, trade continued. Thirsty slaves cried out for water. The wealthy lazed under marquees, fanned by their servants. Sellers called their wares. Dusty Peasants walked the rough paving of the market. Insects buzzed over the trays of sokarr sweets and dried fruit that lay on the ground. Nearby, the sound of a slave auction could be heard. And over everything; fruit, silks, tapestries, tools, nobles and peasants alike, clung a fine layer of dust…
"Let me go!" The cry resounded around the market square. "Let me go, you halfwit musclemen!"
As the voice became louder, the sounds of pandemonium could be heard. Sounds of stalls crashing over, of angry traders bellowing, of children crying: of people scrambling out of the way of the menace who had caused such a commotion. And still the hoarse voice continued:
"If I could get my hands on you I'd rip you into tiny little pieces. And as I tore each bit of flesh out, you know what I'd do? I'd laugh. Oh yes, I'd laugh just like this; ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…"
As the laughter continued it bordered on madness. It became shriller and shriller until, with a yelp of pain it finally stopped. There was a stunned silence in bazaar and then - then they came on view.
Led by a tarkaan whose appearance was both proud and fierce, four huge servants entered the square. Each pulled a rope, which was attached to the wrists of something that was barely recognizable as human. Caked with dust and blood, it appeared dead as they dragged it along the cruel, rough paving. Fresh blood was mingling with the old, black, clotted stuff in its matted hair. The Tarkaan strutted to the center of the square.
"Hear ye, oh people!" he called. "This is what happens to those who dare to abhor our great empire: this is what happens to mockers, traitors and northern barbarians! They suffer pain and agony… and eventually die!"
Gesturing to the captive he continued. "I realize that you have been interrupted in your businesses. But there will be a penance. Tomorrow, for your own pleasure, this snake, this daughter of a dog will be whipped…"
As he spoke a small pauper gave him an urn of water. The tarkaan paused and poured water on his face. As it ran down his face in muddy rivulets, a gasp went around the crowd. For thick dust had concealed a wonder. This tarkaan had not the brown skin of a Calormene, but rather the white of a northerner!
"Ah, I see you have seen my white skin! Yes, good people, have you not heard of the white Tarkaan? He has returned."