Chapter Two—Blades of the Sultan

Darius strode across the polished titles in his red upturned shoes to put some distance between him and this vicious slaves trying to kill him.

They had come from the pits, the barbaric sport he invented and allowed to continue throughout his empire. This fighting sport kept the peoples of the empire distracted.

But more importantly, it was a way to train swordsman and other fighters for his practice sessions, which always ended in death.

Some of these slaves were inducted into the Scorpion Guard to become part of his Blades—his elite group of bodyguards.

He twirled across the floor, almost toying with these three slaves as they lunged and slashed at him with their curved scimitars.

Most of these men had been allowed the privilege of watching their families be torn to pieces by lions.

They wanted nothing more than to see Darius bleed out on the tiles. Concern for their own lives was a distant memory, and now they fought the sultan with vigor and vengeance—fully expecting that their own lives would be over, regardless of the outcome of this fight.

They lived for a chance to slay Darius.

And now they got it.

Snarling, he almost laughed as he reversed his retreat, the blades in his hands slashing deadly arcs through the air as he came into the physical space of one fighter who had strayed from his fellows too far.

As he cut the slave down, hot blood spurted into his face and over the tiles, making them slick.

It mattered not.

Darius, instead of slipping though the tiles, he jumped, summersaulted though the air and landed behind the other two vengeful warriors and cut them down in short order.

As they died, clutching their wounds and gurgling blood in their throats, Darius made a distasteful sound that echoed through the chamber.

The warm breeze blew through the open space as the diaphanous curtains fluttered about in the late noon sunlight.

“This is too easy!” he complained. “I need more of a challenge. I need to be ready when Shiro and his friends come to assassinate me.”

“My lord sultan,” Hahkari, his head vizier said. “These… adventurers. They pose you no threat.”

“I must be prepared!” Darius snarled.

Mushkah, his top general and Kahnassi, the court battle mage, said nothing.

“But my lord,” Hahkari said. “You have the Scorpion Guard here in the palace! Not to mention a powerful battle mage at your beck and call—including those Hajja sorcerers.”

“Them?” Darius said. “I cannot rely on them,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I am holding those sorcerers here against their will. If they could, they would probably kill me in my sleep. I should have them all executed.”

Hahkari’s eyes widened. In his silk pantaloons and his white shoes and jacket, he almost glimmered in the sunlight that came into the chamber. “They are a powerful resource, my lord—even if they do not always comply with the same gusto as your subjects.”

“I only keep them in the palace so that if Shiro and his friends come to kill me—mayhaps they run into the sorcerers and are killed themselves. They have powerful magicks.”

“Indeed, a wise plan, my lord,” Hahkari said as he dry washed his hands obsequiously. “May I… suggest another… ploy?”

“Ploy? Ploy?!” Darius shot back, spreading his arms, the blood dripping off his blades scattering about the floors in heavy droplets. Realizing this, he tossed the blades aside. “Kalina!” he screamed, his voice echoing through the chamber.

The pathetic head servant came running, her sandals slapping against the tiles. When she saw the bodies, she came up short and covered her mouth, either through shock or attempting not to wretch, Darius didn’t know.

“Clean this up!” he said, gesturing to the dead bodies.

She nodded vigorously, turned and left the chamber.

Then to Hahkari, he said, “I am the sultan of the Abassir Empire. I do not need ‘ploys.’”

“Perhaps a poor choice of words, my sultan. What I meant to say, was indeed a trap.”

“A trap?” he asked, feeling intrigued.

“Yes,” Hahkari said with a smile. “Throw a grand ball. Make it looks as if the palace is insecure. Lure them in.” He smiled like a spider.

Narrowing his eyes, Darius too began to grin maliciously. “You have a devious mind, my vizier. Just like a spider.”

He bowed. “Battles are not only won with a solid sword arm, my lord sultan.”

“Indeed,” Darius said. “But we do not know when Shiro will attempt to take back Jessamine.”

“Ah, but I have this worked out as well,” Hahkari said as he pointed to his temple. “Though the parties will be ostensibly for the empire’s recent victories, no doubt—“

Darius cut him off. “Shiro will know their other purpose.”

“Other purpose?”

He was thinking out loud, changing the plan as he went.

“Yes. I throw the parties to announce the possession of my jinni—of her return!” Hahkari looked confused for a moment—as if Darius was changing his plans and that he was being wronged somehow. But the sultan didn’t care. “It will incense him into attacking me sooner. And then I will crush him.”

Nodding the grand vizier smiled. “It is perfect.”

“Mushkah!” Darius barked.

His general stepped forward. “What is your wish?”

“Secure the palace,” Darius said with a grin. “But do not secure it too well. Shiro needs a way to slip inside—otherwise we will never find him until he chooses to find me.”

Mushkah nodded. “I will do as you bid me, my sultan.”

“And you, Kahnassi, will be in charge of my personal guard. I will give you command of my Blades to do with as you wish.”

The court battle mage, a tall man with white skin—the product of an ex-slave with blue eyes no doubt, narrows his eyes and nodded silently as he put his fist to his chest.

The court mage, Kahnassi was completely loyal—had been since his early years. Otherwise Darius would not allow him to be so close.

When Shiro comes, he will think to sneak into my palace and take Jessamine back.

And to kill me.

But it is he who will meet the edge of my blades.

Darius grinned like a madman, his eyes flicking to the pedestal where the lamp sat. It was rarely out of his sight—and would never be stolen from him again.