The Serpent's Veil

The Last Light

Footfalls on the stone floor, the soft crush of fabric rumpling, metal clinking in sheaths, and the rumble of voices cut through the deafening silence as the rebels approached, the distant ember of their torch growing into a steady lick of flame.

Rehan's body thrummed with anticipation, his open hand flexed and shoulders rigid. He knew they could not retreat; there was not enough time to make it back to the first tunnel without being discovered.

That left only one option.

Rehan could not speak to the men to relay orders, nor see a hairsbreadth in front of him, so with his heart clenched in his chest he held them by their arms and moved them in the narrow space. Two stood in front, and Farhad crouched between them. The rest stood behind, with Rehan in the centre. He dare not loose a breath until they were all in position.

Shrouded in darkness, they waited. The rebels' chatter reached them in waves, thick with a dialect Rehan did not recognise, and the closer they got, the faster his shallow breaths came. Was this fear?

He had never feared battle, even when he was barely a boy and leading an entire legion, but here in the dark, crushed so close together with no sky illuminated by sun or star, he felt his limbs tense against his will. If he did not think before striking, he could cut down one of his own.

He could cut down Yahya—

No, he could not let himself nurture the thought. Not now.

All too soon the rebels were close enough that he could discern their faces. Rehan counted five, but there could have been more obscured in the dark behind them. Their leader passed the fork in the tunnel leading back to the tearoom, waving the torch back and forth as he gesticulated to the others, still unaware of the lurking ambush in front of them.

With a deep breath of thick, stifling air, Rehan braced, and leapt off Farhad's back into the light of the flame.

He brought his blade down with a ferocious slash, cutting the leader from neck to stomach in a single stroke. The torch fell from his hands, casting his open mouthed face into sharp relief as he crumpled to the stone floor in a heap of blood and torn flesh.

They surged forward to meet the bewildered rebels. Rehan's bones shook from the crash of steel reverberating in the narrow tunnel as he arced his sword into another man's back, yanking it free in the same breath.

Blood sprayed onto his face, metallic and sweet where it dripped onto his lips.

Slow down. Control yourself.

The torchlight was fading, but there in the corner of his eye he saw a flicker, a faint outline of a dream.

"Runner!" Rehan screamed, pointed his bloodied sword in the direction of the fleeing rebel.

It was Nadir who emerged from the fray, bounding down the tunnel like a sandstorm and arresting the rebel in his choking grip.

The men were panting with exertion and fear, but it was already over. Their nine had easily overpowered the five, and the one shadow-man who was foolish enough to try and run.

Rehan dragged his sword against the stone as he walked, shearing the new silence into two. He paused to pick up the sputtering torch, now hardly brighter than a candle, and brought it to the rebel's face.

Their eyes met in the low light, and Rehan was surprised to see the man was not afraid. Only still.

Rehan felt the urge to draw blood coil around him.

"Your orders, Sayyidi?" Nadir's iron grip held steadfast, but the rebel did not flinch. His brows only creased briefly, likely in recognition of the royal title.