who continued to fight.
Khalid remained out of view, and his soldiers responded to Amardha’s disorganized defense with a deliberate offense. Still no sign of the sultan. No words of inspiration. No leader at the vanguard.
The unconscionable coward.
A hailstorm of arrows fell toward the sultan’s men. Arrows that continued to miss their marks.
Arrows that were promptly collected. And set to flame.
Khalid issued quiet orders. Only those in positions of power and influence should be targeted. After a time, his soldiers tipped their arrows in oil and set them afire. He watched the spark of chaos catch. Turn into flame.
Still the gates of Amardha remained shut.
Nevertheless, Khalid knew word of these events would spread through the ranks of Amardha’s soldiers. The Sultan of Parthia watched from inside his jeweled palace as his city was set ablaze. And did not retaliate.
Salim Ali el-Sharif was afraid of Khalid Ibn al-Rashid.
That afternoon, Khalid ordered the ballistae to be brought forward. Ten giant crossbows armed with metal-studded arrows able to dispel over two talents’ worth of wicked iron. Heavy iron meant to lay siege to a wall. Each ballista was positioned at a specific distance from the wall encircling the city of Amardha. At a point meant to inflict significant damage.
At a point made with an engineer’s exacting eye.
The soldiers on the battlements began to scurry, cries of warning echoing through their ranks.
Fear running rampant.
Khalid waited to see if Salim would take action. When the sultan did nothing—as Khalid had expected—Khalid made ready to deliver another wordless message.
Structures filled with grain and other foodstuffs were targeted. Khalid hoped they housed very few people, if any. For he did not wish to be responsible for even more lives lost. The loss of any life in this war would be keenly felt. And Khalid did not wish to shed innocent blood.
The ballistae were loosed. They flew on a resounding current of air, crashing into their marks with rippling shudders.
Screams resonated throughout Amardha.
Several bodies fell from a collapsing turret, one impaled on a battlement. Khalid’s chest grew tight. So many had already died so needlessly. For a moment he fought to take in a breath. Then Khalid hardened himself.
Such was the way of war.
Wait to feel when there is nothing left. Wait to feel after you’ve won.
He knew Salim Ali el-Sharif had never thought Khalid would truly attack Amardha. After all, Khalid had never done so. Not in all these years. Not after countless provocations.
But Salim needed to believe he would.
Needed to believe that Khalid would raze the entire city without flinching.
The ground at his back started to shake as the sun began to set. Khalid did not look behind. He knew what was on the horizon. Even Salim would be forced to take notice.
In the distance, a sea of Arabian stallions surrounded by a glittering cloud of sand marched toward the gates of Amardha. The men riding the horses were cloaked and masked, wielding wide scimitars and thick leather mankalahs on each wrist. They were people of the desert. Born and bred in the light of its scorching sun. Fearless and proud. Known to take few prisoners.
Known to have even less mercy.
They were led by a boy with a blue-grey falcon and an old man with a long beard.
The son of emir Nasir al-Ziyad. And the sheikh of the al-Sadiq tribe.
They stopped a quarter league outside the city gates. Tariq Imran al-Ziyad raised his scimitar into the sky. An echoing ululation rippled through their masses. The men lifted their swords as the whooping reached a feverish pitch. As the sand around their stallions’ hooves rose into a dusky haze, mingling with the flashes of steel above.
Khalid could feel the fear amassing above the city. No longer a spark about to catch flame. It spread like wildfire, deep into the darkest alleyways of Amardha.
For just as Artan had said yesterday, wars were won before they were even fought.
Then, as the sun set below the horizon, the winged serpent appeared, bearing a bundle beneath its wings. Artan sat astride him, sporting a wicked grin and a darkly punishing gaze.
The winged serpent screamed as it swooped toward the city gates. The men along the wall began frantically firing arrows at it. Arrows that rebounded off its armorlike scales. In response to the arrows, the winged serpent screamed even louder, and Khalid watched the men below clap their hands over their ears, yelling to one another in terror.
Then the winged serpent dropped its bundle over the city gates. The thick liquid splashed