The Serpent's Veil

The War Room

The faces seated around the roundtable were cast in deep shadow from the flickering torchlight. The oak doors flung open, crushing the silence with an echo as Rehan strode through, his crimson kaftan cascading behind him like a bloody waterfall. He had tied his messy curls in a low bun, mouth turned down at the corners. The men present — his father, Khalid, several high ranking ministers and Emirs — looked at him with equally grave expressions. To his surprise, Yahya was not among them.

He came to his father's side without a word, and they continued the discussion where they had left off. His mind drifted to Khaya, her tear stained face creased in sadness as she wept in his arms. As much as he wanted to be there when she wakened, to know the cause of her tears and thwart it, his father's summons always took precedent. He would return once this was done.

"What is the situation in Rey currently?" asked Iman, the minister of the interior. He was a seasoned soldier, now plump from age and a steady surplus of food and drink. His thick eyebrows were drawn low and stern.

"The governor says there are riots in the streets," began the Caliph, "Several dead or injured. There is talk of the gold souk being looted."

Everyone stiffened. "And they are sure it is the zealots?" asked another minister.

"Yes, they bore white flags," said the Caliph.

Rehan's eyes remained placid. His father had already shared these details with him the previous evening. Nevertheless, the rest of the ministers could not hide their shock. The white flag was the symbol of the previous regime, the Umayyads. Rehan's uncle, Al-Saffah, led the armies that decimated their forces on the banks of the Great Zab River. There had been plenty of rebellions in the empire before, but none were in league with the Umayyads.

Rehan was just as surprised when he first heard the news. He glanced at the Caliph sideways, noting his rigid posture and dagger eyes. He had never seen him this perturbed.

"You were right to summon us, Sayyidi. The seeds of rebellion must be stamped out before they can sprout," said Khalid, his deep voice rumbling. "I will send our finest crop of soldiers to tend to the matter."

"Prince Rehan is leading the charge."

Rehan's face was steel, but his pulse jumped in his wrists. His father had sprung this on him unexpectedly, but he couldn't allow them to sense any nervousness from him, not when the Caliph was putting this in his hands. The preservation of their regime was of paramount important to every man in the room, and he would be the one to do it.

"I am honoured, Sayyidi." He bowed deeply. "With your guidance, Vizier, I will crush them."

The spark of confidence turned into a flame tingling from his fingertips to the back of his eyes. A battle fury swelling for release.

I will crush them.

The men whispered in hushed tones, then turned to the Caliph for further instructions.

"Sharan, I am trusting you to map the route and strategise."

Sharan al-Barmaki nodded once. He was their chief strategist in both war and peacetime, and though he was brilliant, he and Rehan could not be more different. Where Sharan preferred avoiding conflict wherever possible by using spies and assassins hidden in the dark, Rehan moved better on the frontlines, leading armies under the blazing sun.

"This is of paramount importance," the Caliph announced, rising from his seat. "I will not have my brother's legacy marred by the putrid remnants of a dead dynasty. No one speaks of this until the Prince has wiped them clean from the face of the earth."