The Tale Of The Arabian Warrior (SAMPLE)

Prolugue

To history;

My fascination for you never ceases to amaze me.

Hidden behind Raiyna Aliad’s velvet red robes, little Hastia Shakila peeked through the gap of her mother’s slender arm and watched the incident occurring in front of her. A man; clearly not from this city, stood with a triumph smile daubed onto his face. Following on his right, Ameer Hussin, the Sultan of this whole land was on his knees, his hands cuffed to his back. His eyes held a depth of endless grief and sorrow. Many others of his loyal disciples and men were in the similar position. Citizens stood opposing them, petrified at this heart wrenching scenario. She did not understand what was going on; she was only five happy years old.

But her brothers seemed to comprehend this event. And by the looks of their faces, she knew it wasn’t a good thing.

So she just stayed quiet and watched, her huge black eyes sparkling with curiosity and anxiety.

“People of the golden city! Behold! Your Sultan Ameer has been defeated!” he thrust his chin upwards arrogantly. “As a ceremonial ritual and with my sympathy for him, he shall die in front of his subjects, as a real warrior would. Along with his loyal men.” The towering fawn male turned to face the land’s beloved Sultan. He pointed a sword under his neck, tipping his head to face him. “Any last words, old friend?”

He held a steady gaze at the man taunting him with a sword. “Nothing for you, Shaleem. Only to my acolytes.”

The man upended threw his head back and roared in laughter. “Even before dying, your sense of humor and superiority never ceases does it Ameer? They’re not your subjects anymore, but I’ll let you state anyway.”

“My subjects.” He addressed the citizens standing. “You have all been dedicated and honorable people, and I do not wish for it to conclude. Just because we are under an imperil darkness,’ Sultan Shaleem chuckled, ‘discern that you all should battle. Fight for your rights, fight for your will. And fight for the love of this scared land.” He then searched the crowd, until he found Hastia’s almost concealed face. He beamed the warmest smile that for a second, Hastia disremembered the unbearable tragedy happening and grinned back at him. “Young ones, nourish and flourish into great individuals. Become people whom this city will proudly claim you theirs.”

“Oh enough already, Ameer. You speeches of motivation do bore me to death. All the more reason to get rid of you.” Sultan Shaleem yawned. He stood behind Sultan Ameer, his sword under his neck. More men whom were covered in expensive looking black keffiyeh took their places behind each disciple. They all held their swords under their necks.

Sultan Ameer regarded at his disciples, an honored smile coaxing his face. “You have all been a wonderful gift to me, my dear friends. I am sorry if I have done anything to wound your delicate hearts.”

And when Sultan Shaleem barked those horrid words that changed the city’s fate, Hastia’s mother was ill-advisedly too late to veil Hastia’s observation from her treasured Sultan being beheaded.

Screams and cries of sorrow and pain echoed the whole city central. Families of the beheaded members wailed in vehemence and grief. A few men advanced forward with weapons, screaming bloody murder. But one wave of Sultan Shaleem’s hand and his men rounded them with their blood dripping swords. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Subsequently as Ameer is gone, I will be taking his place as your new Sultan.” He eyed the audience. “Bow down to me.”

There was a hesitation in the midst of the crowd. As some people were about to get down onto their knees, a woman -presumably one of the disciple’s wife- took a brave step forward. She was what you’d call an English rose; fair, pale silvery hair and tainted pink lips. She gripped onto a little boy’s hand, which to Hastia’s surprise was her good friend Ali, and stood facing Sultan Shaleem. “No. I refuse to bow before such a monstrous beast.”