Khayzuran awoke to the blaring adhan from the blue mosque minarets, four melodious male voices keening to be heard far and wide. Her eyes were bleary, and her head pulsed with pain as she pushed herself up on the... bed. She had never seen this place before, how had she got here? Her throat was dry when she swallowed, and she reached for the half-full jug of water on the stand, not stopping to think if it could be poisoned. The room was quiet and dim from the drawn curtains, furnished with a few chairs and a plush blue velvet diwan.Khaya massaged the side of her neck as she stood up and went to the carpet to pray. Once complete, she headed to the door. She had to find Yahya, figure out what happened.
The last thing she remembered was looking into Rehan's cold, cold eyes. Eyes that weren't looking at her but through her, past her. Her body had moved of its own accord when she witnessed that expression, she couldn't stand it, she couldn't believe that it was real. After that, there was nothing but perhaps a vague memory of pain. Had Rehan brought her here? Had he been attacked too? She couldn't bare either thought.
The door was locked. She was immediately on high alert, projecting her senses outward to uncover what lay outside. From the familiar sounds reaching her, she was in the governor's residence. There was an open balcony on the far side of the room, and she ran to it, only to find she was several stories up. There was no climbing down from here.
Someone was lurking outside the door, they must have heard the latch clicking with her attempts to open it. By his breathing, it was no one familiar to her. Her face scrunched in annoyance and regret—why had she not been more careful? How could she have let Rehan follow her, especially when she was strong enough to have known? She briefly considered breaking down the door, but just as the thought left her mind the door swung open. A tall man with dark skin stood there, staring down at her menacingly.
"Good morning," he said, and imposed her back inside. There was a pair of petite women just behind him carrying a tray of food and some clothes. Belatedly, Khaya realised she was not wearing a headscarf, she snatched the strip of cloth on top of the pile and wrapped it hastily over her hair. The man walked around the room, ignoring everyone present as the maids laid out the food and clothing and took their leave. Khaya had half a mind to just follow them out, but she was afraid of this man. Despite his lanky build, she could hear the way his muscles contracted with each graceful movement. He was strong, and fast.
"Who are you?" She finally broke the silence.
"A better question would be, who are you?" he replied without looking at her, his accent turned his words slow and undulating. "It is a wonder he let you live."
Khaya's heart leapt to her throat. So, it was true, he had brought her here. Had probably knocked her unconscious with his own hands. Such was the magnitude of betrayal.
"Who sent you to Rey and for what purpose?" Still, the man did not look at her. Was it for malice, or respect?
"I won't answer till you tell me who you are." Her stomach suddenly twisted, and she inched her way to the food without taking her eyes off his back.
"I am the Prince's shadow."
A spy, then, hired by Rehan to interrogate her. She hated that she could not see him, explain to him herself what she had done without the shock and the pain of being discovered the way she had. Again, she cursed herself.
At her silence, the man continued, "The Prince instructed me on the threat of my life not to harm you, but he also asked me to question you. He doesn't trust you, you see. Whether you decide to answer my questions is your choice, but what I relay to him may be the difference between your life and your death."
"How can I trust you? What if you work for the rebels?"
The shadow turned around. "It seems you posses a modicum of intelligence, how commendable." He slowly crossed the room until he stood by the door, in case she thought of escaping. "We are in the governor's residence, if a rebel were able to enter here, would they not have done so already?"
Khaya paused to swallow a mouthful of ground beef and rice. It was humiliating that he was watching her eat, but she was starving.
"I came of my own accord, I came to protect the Prince," she finally said.
The shadow did not seem impressed. "What relation do you have to the Barmakis?"
"The Vizier forced me to become his spy, but not against Rehan. It was against someone else, I don't know who."
He squinted fractionally. "What do you mean you don't know who?"
Khaya hesitated. She did not think the Vizier would react lightly to her sharing their private conversations. "It's someone the Barmakis think is important, I'm not sure why."
"Very well..." He smirked. "You are good at this."
"At what?"
"Speaking shrewdly, speaking in half-truths. Speaking to men as a woman of your stature and station."
The comment did not offend her as it should have. She too had been surprised by her own boldness but after facing Sharan al-Barmaki, other men paled in comparison.
"Do you have any more questions, sahib?"
A wide smile pulled across his face, revealing gleaming white teeth. "That will be all, sahiba. You may await the Prince's return here. Should you require anything, don't."
X
The entire eastern quarter had a solitary firetorch suspended from its only watchtower. But it was a full moon, and the clouds were scarce. They navigated by the twinkling starlight past the dusty, ramshackle wooden and mud buildings that made up the eastern quarter. Some homes had small candles outside, most down to their wicks, while others slept in complete darkness. A few windows had lights shining through, perhaps artisans continuing deep into the night. Or ruffians and hoodlums getting up to no good.
Despite the low light and new terrain, Rehan exuded calm. He had studied maps of Rey extensively, and knew every single road, alley, square, and possible route of escape in this quarter. He knew that two streets down there was an old stable, that further down if one took a left and then a right, there was a mosque which saw over a thousand visitors a day. After a while, the men dismounted their horses, except those carrying short bows. They fanned out, consulting their maps to take them to the nearest tunnel exits which had been marked. Rehan and two dozen others made their way straight through, towards where they predicted the leaders were hiding.
The captured rebel had mentioned the probable location of the northern base, and so one group had been sent underground to secure the tunnel exit closest to it, in case anyone decided to run after learning of the raid on the eastern quarter.
Rehan took a deep breath of warm night air. It smelled of ash and rotten wood, though the place was deserted. His halberd was now uncovered, its blade edge gleaming in the moonlight, an open signal to war. He paused to direct the archers to the rooftops, explaining twice-through the directions to follow once up there. The world looked different from a bird's eye, he thought. Fragile and minuscule—
A scream cut through the silence, and everyone froze. "There!" Someone pointed to the corner of the street, where a man was dragging a woman out of a squat building, an unmistakable white veil covering his face.
"They're here!" screamed Rehan, charging first. Suddenly, they were everywhere. An arrow flew past his ears as he kept his sights on the now-fleeing rebel. He swung his halberd with both hands, slicing the man's spine down its length. He yanked the blade out and looked up to see a swarm of men emerging from every building and alleyway, swords drawn. The road was a dead end, and his men had cordoned its only exit for the Umayyads. It was fight or die.
The woman was still screaming as Rehan grabbed her by her clothes and shoved her into a cache in the wall. "Hide!" he bellowed as he turned the shaft of his weapon to block a strike from an armored enemy. He kicked the man's chest hard and swiped his halberd sideways, cutting the man's neck clean open. Blood sprayed on Rehan's face as the man flopped into a gurgling heap. He licked his lips, savoring the sweetness.
His archer was firing flaming arrows from above, turning white-clad men into human torches. Their screams and the singe of burning flesh faded into the underwater of Rehan's awareness as he set his eyes on the large building at the end of the road. Already men were streaming from it, and he sliced them down as he would fruit from a tree as he advanced, no longer a man but a machine of war. Few managed to cut him, and those who did, did not do so twice. His bloody hands were slipping on the shaft of his halberd, so he squeezed tighter until every sinew in his arm had awakened.
A man appeared in the clearing, tall and bearded and proud, and Rehan knew this was Dawudal-Hak. He carried a broadsword, it would slice Rehan's halberd in two if he got near it.
"You will die, traitor Prince!"
Rehan lunged and feinted at the last second to send him off balance with the weight of his own sword, but Dawud saw through it and changed his downward strike into an arc. Rehan's teeth gritted as he twirled his halberd around to intercept it, and the impact from the blow threw him across the clearing. Blood surged through him, and he was up again as arrow cover rained down, causing Dawud to scramble around like a dog as he dodged them. But it would not last. Rehan wiped his bloody hands against his shirt, regripped the halberd and advanced. Dawud was grinning as the archers slowed down their barrage, but Rehan was equally thrilled as he heard the canter of hooves on the hard packed dirt behind him. The short bows came, aimed, and fired at will, causing Dawud to again lose his wits. An arrow found his arm, his thigh, and he bellowed in pain.
Rehan put a hand up to stop the short bows, and they quickly retreated to defend the others. He ran towards Dawud arcing his halberd in an uppercut, and the awkward angle caused Dawud to lose his balance as he blocked the strike.
"This is the end," Rehan bellowed, and swung his halberd down.
It stopped.
Rehan blinked, and instead of Dawud stumbling before him, a grey-veiled man held the shaft of the halberd back. Dawud's laughter sounded behind him, and he turned his head to see the long edge of the broad sword glinting silver as it came down for his neck.
This is not where I die.
Rehan's body let go of his weapon and ducked. Both the veiled man and Dawud lost their balance and fell into each other. Rehan swiped at their feet, and fell back.
"Sayyidi!" Someone shouted from beside him. The guard passed Rehan his only sword, arming himself with a minuscule dagger. The man would be defenceless, but Rehan took the offering just as Dawud and his conspirator recovered. Rehan smiled. He was much more comfortable with a sword.
Just as he thought to engage the Umayyads again, an arrow cut through the air and pierced Dawud straight in his heart.
He looked down, perplexed, then up at Rehan as his knees caved and the light in his eyes died. Without second thought, Rehan lunged for the broadsword as the man in grey ran towards him, swinging his halberd down. Rehan was faster, he tilted the blade edge to intercept it, and the wooden shaft shattered into splinters. The halberd blade thudded against the dirt, and Rehan threw himself forward to destroy Dawud's man. He was fleeing back through where the Reyan's were engaged with the remaining rebels, but Rehan kept pace. He swung the broadsword up, but instead of meeting cloth and flesh, it cut through empty air. Rehan stumbled, barely keeping upright from the weight of the heavy weapon's arc. He blinked, looked around, but the man had vanished completely.
There was no time to decipher what he had just seen—he picked up the sword in both hands and carried on. There weren't many left; some had tried to make a frantic escape towards the tunnels, where the Reyan pikemen would be laying in wait, if all had gone smoothly underground.
"Check inside the houses," called Rehan. "There may be stragglers, or hostages."
Those who were unengaged followed the order, and he himself went to check inside one of the buildings closest to him. There was not a shred of light inside, it was like stepping into a pot of ink. Rehan held his sword up, his muscles finally feeling the strain of fatigue.
"Step back," a male voice echoed from within. He emerged into the shallow pool of light falling through the door. Rehan dropped his sword.
In his grip was a boy who could have been no older than five; the man held a dagger against the side of his neck, its tip drawing a single drop of blood against the boy's cream white skin. He was shaking, his eyes darting between Rehan, the door, everywhere.
"Move," the rebel barked, shoving forward. Rehan took a slow step back, spreading his palms out in front of him.
"You are surrounded," he said calmly. "My archers will shoot you once you are outside."
The man ignored the warning. "Move!"
Rehan obliged, watching the boy's eyes carefully, hoping he looked reassuring despite being covered in blood and gore. Soon they were outside, and the man spun around, eyeing the rooftops for the archers. Rehan quickly looked over his shoulder, the short bows had retreated already—but there was still the risk of them shooting the boy dead, so it didn't matter. The remaining men had now noticed what was going on.
"Spread out," said Rehan, "Let him go."
The man seemed perplexed, perhaps surprised his ploy had let him get this far. Rehan's jaw tightened, doubt crept through his nerves. How he regretted not having Yahya with them.
The boy was crying now, silent shaking tears, as the rebel spun around and around to make sure no one would attempt an attack from behind. Rehan's mind raced. The man would kill the boy as soon as it was safe to do so. He could see only one way.
As soon as the man diverted his eyes away, Rehan ran for him. He threw his full weight against him, toppling them to the ground.
"Run!" he screamed at the boy. A quick thinking Reyan pulled the boy away swiftly as Rehan and the rebel scuffled on the ground. Rehan tried to grab his wrist and wrench the dagger free, but the rebel was too fast. He swiped up, piercing Rehan's shoulder and cutting down to his chest. His eyes stung from the pain, but he carried on as blood streamed down his torso. A pair of Reyan guards flew into action, pulling the rebel off their Prince and restraining him. Another stepped between him as a shield. Rehan clutched his arm, now completely soaked and red. The smaller cuts and bruises he had sustained through the night were beginning to show their teeth.
"Your orders, Sayyidi?"
The rebel looked up, no pleading in his eyes. Only rage.
"No quarter."
Two swords went through the rebel's back with a decisive thrust, there would be less blood this way. He thudded against the hard-packed dirt, and all was silence.
The boy whimpered suddenly, and Rehan drew his attention back to him. He had a cut on his neck, by the vital vein. Several others were wounded around them, some bodies clad in black lay on the ground unmoving. Pain radiated from the wound in his shoulder and chest.
Rehan slowly closed his eyes. "Bring me a horse."