“Destroyed.”
She nodded once, the tension leaving her limbs. The smell of Nabulsi soap clung to her skin. Soon Khalid felt the warmth of tears soaking through his qamis.
And he understood.
“You saw Irsa?” Khalid asked.
Shahrzad nodded. “Rahim . . .”
“Will always be remembered,” Khalid finished softly.
“I haven’t been here for her.” The remorse on her face gutted him. “I haven’t been there for Irsa when she’s needed me. I was too busy wanting things I could not control.” She pressed into Khalid. “I should have known better.”
“As you said, wanting and needing are different. Now that you know, I trust you will do better.” Khalid lifted his hands to her wet hair. Fury bristled within his chest when he touched the ragged ends. Ends that barely grazed her shoulder.
Ends that spoke of recent violence. Abuse at the hands of Salim Ali el-Sharif.
“Are you angry?” Shahrzad whispered.
Khalid steadied his rage. “Yes.”
She looked up at him, her eyes still shimmering with tears. “Are you going to make him pay?”
“Many times over.”
Shahrzad took a careful breath. “I have an idea.” Her lips quirked to one side. “Well, it’s not just mine. And we’ll need your help.”
“You have it, joonam. Always.”
THE GATES OF AMARDHA
IT BEGAN AT DAYBREAK.
When Khalid sent his archers to fire a flurry of arrows at the city’s battlements.
In response, the soldiers of Amardha—the ones tasked with guarding the gates—rained a shower of their own arrows down upon the string of archers below.
A warning. Proceed no farther.
Khalid’s archers dashed back into the desert on horses faster than the wind. Badawi horses borrowed from Omar al-Sadiq.
Later, Khalid’s archers returned.
This time with many more riders. And many more arrows.
Khalid had long known the sentiment that was undoubtedly roiling through the city of Amardha at this moment.
Khorasan had more soldiers. More money. More weapons.
All Parthia had was arrogance. An arrogance Khalid intended to use to his advantage.
The midmorning sun at their backs, his archers fired up into the sky. Alas, those in charge atop the wall could not see well, the sun shining too bright in their eyes. They could not issue the proper orders for their soldiers to fire down at the attackers. Their shots missed, striking dirt and sand and rocks and debris. The occasional shield. But never once striking their targets.
Then . . .
Khalid’s soldiers took careful aim.
Not a drop of blood would be spilled in waste.
The soldiers tasked with issuing orders were felled in a single volley. Some slumped across the battlements. Others fell screaming to their deaths.
The arrows fired at them were marked with the standard of the twin swords. The al-Rashid standard.
A warning: Khorasan would take no mercy on those 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.