Four long months passed and found Hamíd mounted on Inzi beside Lord Rishdah. The two main armies had drawn into battle lines at the border. Emeth and Nicar were stationed with Ismail some way down the line of cavalry. Inzi shifted nervously beneath Hamíd, and he stroked her neck soothingly. Beside him, Ahmed was doing the same as they waited for the signal. Azrahil galloped towards them.
“Everyone is in position, my lord!” he said.
Lord Rishdah nodded and raised his hand. A trumpet blared, and the cavalry began to move. Picking up speed, they flew toward the waiting Argusians. Closer and closer they thundered. In a sudden rush, the enemy seemed to spring up from under their hooves. Spears were raised against the oncoming charge. Hamíd threw his javelin at the soldier in front of Lord Rishdah, clearing a path. Inzi came closer to the glistening spear in front of her. Hamíd pulled hard on the reins, bringing her up into a rear to strike with her front hooves, killing the Argusian spearman.
Hamíd drew his scimitar and spurred Inzi to where Lord Rishdah and his guards had made it through the lines into the hard press of combat.
The battle raged unceasingly around him for hours, trapping him in a bloody sea. When the battle slowed around him, the day was almost gone.
“Hamíd!” He looked to where the captain was pointing and saw Ismail and Emeth unhorsed and pressed against a rocky outcropping.
Hamíd urged Inzi toward them, coming from behind to surprise the Argusians. He quickly dismounted and helped drive off the enemy. Nicar was sitting against the rocks, hands pressed against a wide gash on his thigh. Ismail leaned on his bloody sword as Emeth began bandaging Nicar’s wound.
“Bloody spear! Never liked those things anyway,” Nicar muttered, groaning a little as the bandage was tightened.
Hamíd and Ismail stood side by side, gazing out over the field. The last fighting had stopped, and the Calorins looked to be victorious. The sun sank lower in the glowing western sky, tinting the battlefield a deeper shade of red.
“Strange, isn’t it? We’ve lived to see the sun set, and there are so many that won’t,” Ismail said.
Hamíd nodded silently, feeling sick as he watched the carrion begin to gather. He turned away. “We should find your father.”
Nicar’s horse had been killed, so they helped him on to Inzi. Emeth found his and Ismail’s horses wandering nearby. They slowly picked their way over to the crowd forming at the center of the field where Lord Rishdah watched the retreating Argusian army.
“We will see them again all too soon,” he said to Azrahil. “But a more welcome sight!” he boomed as he caught sight of his son. “It seems we have all survived this day. For that, I am very grateful.” He embraced Ismail.
“I am well, Father. You?” Ismail asked.
“Better now that you are safe,” Lord Rishdah replied. Then he began to give orders for the transportation of the wounded and any prisoners and the clearing of the battlefield. Azrahil looked Emeth and Hamíd up and down until satisfied they were not seriously injured.
“Take Nicar back to camp and get him to a healer. Hamíd, take care of the horses,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.” They threw him a tired salute.
Emeth saw Nicar taken care of by a healer and made him as comfortable as possible on his cot.
“I’ll be back later,” he promised. Nicar grunted softly and closed his eyes. Emeth left the tent and found Hamíd outside.
Hamíd unsaddled and picketed the horses before drawing fresh water. He began to rub the horses down as they drank thirstily. He just finished caring for an ugly gash down Narak’s leg when Emeth returned from settling Nicar. Emeth laughed as Hamíd turned to him.
“You look terrible,” he said.
Hamíd glanced down at himself. His face and clothes were smeared in blood and dirt. Emeth was in slightly better condition.
“Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself.”
Emeth gave a half-hearted wipe to his clothes. “You’re right, we should probably try and clean up before the captain gets back,” he said.
“You do that yourself?” Hamíd gestured to the rough bandage around Emeth’s arm.
“Now you’re going to start on me?” he asked indignantly. “It’s fine, I think.”
“Let me look at it. I’ll at least make it look neater.” Hamíd grinned.
“Only after you take care of yourself,” Emeth retaliated.
“Well, if you’re going to be that way, I’ll wait until Azrahil comes back so he can hold you down,” Hamíd replied.
“Cheater!” Emeth muttered good-naturedly. “Between Nicar, Ahmed, and now you, it’s a wonder I haven’t been killed with concern!”
A chuckle broke from Hamíd. He knew part of it was the fading adrenaline from the battle, but it was the happiest he’d felt in years. As he laughed, a tension eased inside of him.
They went inside the guards’ tent to clean up as best they could. They washed and cared for the other cuts and scrapes they had sustained, and Hamíd re-bandaged the long wound on Emeth’s arm. After dressing in clean uniforms, they began cleaning their weapons and chain mail. Once completely dressed and outfitted, they clasped fresh black cloaks around their shoulders and went out to meet the returning Lord Rishdah.
* * *
After the battle, the war turned back to small skirmishes until news came from the Sultaan ordering Lord Rishdah to reach a peace treaty with the Argusians. Two weeks later, the Sultaan and the king of Argus met on the border five miles south of Latharn.
Lord Rishdah stood by the Sultaan, flanked by Nicar and Azrahil. The remainder of the Phoenix Guard stood slightly apart with Ismail to watch the proceedings. The king of Argus was a tall, powerfully built man, dressed in the finest clothes, and flanked by his best warriors. Gold bracelets decorated his bare arms, and an ornate battle-axe hung at his side. He towered over the Sultaan, a short, rotund man, but with an unmistakable aura of power about him.
“How much do you want to bet he’s never fought before in his life?” Emeth whispered out of the side of his mouth to Ahmed, glancing at the finery of the Sultaan and the small dagger he carried. In contrast, the Argusian king was covered in scars of numerous battles.
“That’s not a fair bet considering the answer’s obvious,” Ahmed whispered back. “Just look at the jewels he wears. The smallest one is worth more gold than I’d ever make in a lifetime.”
“That’s not hard to believe, considering the way both of you lose to Nicar at cards,” Ismail murmured.
This brought a slight smirk from Hamíd and muffled indignant expressions from Emeth and Ahmed. They lapsed back into silence when Azrahil half turned and looked at them with a withering expression.
The hours dragged on as the two rulers debated. As the sun rose higher in the sky, they moved into the welcome shade of a pavilion. Finally, two documents were written out and the king and Sultaan affixed their seals to the papers. Cheers rang through both armies as the treaty was signed. The two rulers bowed formally to each other and withdrew, each with a document in his possession, Gondeni and Makurung were surrendered back to the Argusians, and provisions were made for prisoner exchange. Two days later, the armies departed, and the borderlands were left in peace.
Chapter 8
Two months passed quietly after Lord Rishdah returned to his small domain. Hamíd, now proven in battle, settled down into his second year in the Phoenix Guard. There were days he was still surprised at the steady confidence that filled him and the easy comradery among the Guards. Laughter came more easily and he enjoyed the occasional surprise on his companions’ faces when he would unexpectedly join in a conversation or practical joke. He had begun to think that he could come to accept it as home and family until the day the news came from the Sultaan.
Hamíd stood on guard at the doorway to Lord Rishdah’s study as the lord received the messenger.
“The Sultaan is pleased to announce that his armies have successfully invaded Aredor,” the man said.
Hamíd felt as if an invisible knife plunged into his stomach and twisted. He stood paralyzed in shock as the man continued. “Our men caught the northerners completely off guard, and their pathetic warbands were swiftly overcome. The Sultaan’s general has taken care of the king and his family and now sits in the royal palace.”
“This is somewhat surprising news. I did not know the Sultaan was planning such a campaign,” Lord Rishdah said.
“He kept it secret from all but a few. Why do you think he made peace with Argus? He needed the soldiers to help expand his domains.”
Lord Rishdah’s features pulled into a frown. “What happens if a rebellion stirs in Aredor? Or worse, in our own country? The southern lords are always restless.”
“The Sultaan is assured that there is no resistance left in the north. And if he needs more men, the alliance with the king of Argus will give the Sultaan mercenaries to use as he wills. If I did not know you better, Rishdah, I would say that you do not support our illustrious ruler.” The messenger studied Lord Rishdah with sudden interest.
“Well then, it is good that you know me.” Lord Rishdah poured two cups of wine and handed one to the messenger. “May our great Sultaan be blessed with health, prosperity, and victory in battle.”
“Always. In Zayd’s blessed name!” the man replied. Draining his goblet, he bowed to Lord Rishdah and left the room.
Lord Rishdah cursed as he saw Hamíd standing still in shock at the door.
“Hamíd, I knew nothing of this news. You should not have heard it like that,” he said.
Hot anger flashed through Hamíd. “How would you mean to tell me that your bloody Sultaan invaded my homeland? Or did you mean to tell me at all?”
“Yes, I would have. But understand that I can do nothing about this,” Lord Rishdah returned.
“What does this mean for me then? Do you turn me in or kill me? Or perhaps you will just enslave me again as you just did my people?” Panic was rising in his chest to clash with the anger and the heated words tumbled out.
Lord Rishdah rose and stepped around the desk. Hamíd hated himself as he almost took a step away.
“None of those.” Lord Rishdah’s words were sharp. “I took you because I saw the courage and honor you have. Do not do anything that will make me change that view. I make it very clear that even though I serve the Sultaan, I do not agree with everything he does. You swore an oath to me and as such are still bound to me. I trust you, and I ask you to do the same.”
“Yes, sir,” Hamíd gritted out.
“You are dismissed for now. I will speak to Azrahil.”
Hamíd snapped a salute and left the room, pushing past the shocked Nicar who had been patrolling the hallway before making his way outside.
* * *
Emeth found Hamíd sitting against the north wall of the castle.
“Figured I might find you here. You can’t see much, but at least it faces north.” Emeth broke the silence first.
“You heard the news?” Hamíd asked in Rhyddan.
Emeth slid down to join him on the ground. “Aye, just now. I’m sorry.”
“Doesn’t make much difference, does it?” Bitterness laced Hamíd’s tone.
“Don’t think I don’t know what this means. How long do you think it will be until they turn to Braeton? A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of my own family.” There was a sharp pain in Emeth’s words, and Hamíd cursed himself for forgetting.
“At least you know your family is still alive. I should have been there. Leading the warbands alongside my father and brother.”
“What did you say?” Emeth’s eyes widened in incredulity.
“Does it matter?” Hamíd clenched a hand. He hadn’t meant for it to slip out. Especially in front of Emeth who would know what it meant. He pulled the glove from his right hand, revealing the hated brand and the only truth he’d known for years. “A slave. That’s all I am.”
“No, no, you’re not. You’re a prince?” Emeth struggled with the implications of his words.
“Not anymore. There’s nothing left.” Hamíd turned again and faced north. Somewhere, over the trackless plains and ocean, was his home.
Suddenly Emeth spoke again.
“Aiden.”
“What?” Hamíd turned to him in confusion.
“You didn’t think my name was really Emeth, did you?” He grinned.
“Fair enough. My name’s Corin,” Hamíd replied with a slight smile.
“Does Rishdah know?”
Hamíd shook his head. “No one does, except for you. And that’s how it’ll stay.” Telling anyone before would have been impossible, but now it was dangerous. If anyone would even believe him.
They sat in silence for a long moment and then Emeth spoke.
“So what was it like?” he asked.
“What?”
“I’m just trying to imagine you as a prince, strutting around.” Emeth nudged his shoulder, prompting a small grin.
“Well, I admit I was a little spoiled. Running everywhere, usually in trouble. I planned most of our escapades, dragging my best friend Martin, and my brother Darrin, along with me. And after I got us all in trouble, Darrin would get me out of it,” Hamíd said.
“Sounds like my older brothers,” Emeth commented.
“I was so impulsive and reckless and wouldn’t let Darrin talk me out of anything. He would actually stop to think about what might happen if we got caught.” Hamíd’s smile wavered. He probably wouldn’t even recognize his own brother if he stood in front of him. The Sultaan’s general has taken care of the king and his family, the messenger had said. Dead. Even if Amaura and his mother had survived, Darrin and his father wouldn’t have. It was better to kill any hope a conquered nation might have.
“What was one of the worst things you ever did?” Emeth’s question jerked him back to the present.
Hamíd knew it was a distraction but allowed himself to turn back to childhood memories he’d long filed away.
“I actually stole my father’s crown for some reason and lost it for about a day and a half before I found it again. I don’t think I sat down for a week,” Hamíd admitted as Emeth laughed. “Funny thing is, afterwards, I don’t think my father was very angry with me. You could always tell when he was really mad if you watched his eyes. Most of the time, you could see the laughter in them, so we always knew we wouldn’t be punished too badly.”
“What about your friend, Martin?” Emeth asked curiously.
“He was just like me. We both dreamed of growing up to be famous warriors. I hope he’s still out there alive somewhere.” Hamíd picked at the laces of his glove.
“Well, if he’s still anything like you, he probably is. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Corin,” Emeth said.
Unexpected laughter broke from Hamíd. He hadn’t realized what it would be like to hear his name again.
“I haven’t been called that in so many years,” he said. “Thanks… Aiden.”
Emeth made a low bow. “Anything for Your—”
“Don’t say it,” Hamíd warned as he rose. “I will hurt you if you ever call me that.”
“Really? How badly?” Emeth backed away with a grin.
“You’re about to find out.”
* * *
Despite his best efforts, Hamíd found himself thinking more and more about Aredor. His companions never mentioned the invasion, but it remained at the forefront of his mind for days. Castimir, having formed a friendship with Hamíd since the Argusian war, tried to find some way to distract him. He and Hamíd would go on frequent hunting trips, often joined by Emeth or Ahmed. Grasping light javelins, they would race their horses against the fleet gazelles that roamed the plains. Castimir was finally rewarded one day by the return of the cocky grin to Hamíd’s face. Watching Hamíd’s angular features, Castimir was reminded of the solitary grey hawks that traveled the sky. He began to call Hamíd simply “Hawk,” to the quiet amusement of his companions.
Chapter 9
Emeth, Castimir, and Hamíd raced each other along the dusty road. Bending low over the necks of their horses, they urged them on, quickly outdistancing the rest of the company. Lord Rishdah smiled as he watched them go. It had been a long and tedious journey. The Sultaan had sent him to gain the support of the southern lords in order to supply the Sultaan with more troops. Lord Rishdah had brought Castimir along to begin to educate his youngest son in the intricacies of diplomacy. But long talks and councils did not sit well with Castimir’s wild spirit.
“Come!” he said. “We’d best hurry if we don’t wish to be left behind.” The soldiers smiled as they spurred their horses on to a quicker pace.
The three of them flew down the road for more than a mile until they pulled their horses to a stop. Castimir whooped in excitement.
“I never thought we’d leave!” he gasped.
“That boy Castimir is too wild and reckless for his own good!” Emeth deepened his voice in an unfortunately perfect imitation. His companions doubled over with laughter.
“That old lord, ha! Too pompous for his own good!” Castimir said. “I don’t know how Father stands it!”
“He doesn’t! You should see him after days like that,” Hamíd said.
Castimir flashed a grin. “Come on, we’ll wait for them by those rocks up ahead.”
The rocks in question were huge stones piled on either side of the road about a quarter mile away.
* * *
Dark eyes watched their progress carefully.
“That’s not Rishdah,” one man said. “That’s the son.”
“He’ll do just as well,” the leader said.
The Rise of Aredor Page 7
