The Burning Bridge

From a high balcony in the governor's residence, Prince Rehan surveyed the city of Rey, where new fires had been lit just days before his arrival. Wisps of smoke rose from the charred brick and wood of damaged homes, streaking the clear sky with grey.

The rebels had grown bold, and would grow bolder still if they did not intervene soon.

He turned away from the desolate scene and stepped inside, bringing his attention to the meeting at hand. The governor's hall of private audience carried the aura of an oasis, with cool turquoise blue tiles, sea-green velvet cushions, and white gossamer curtains. A wide ashwood table dominated the centre of the room, its polished surface gleaming in the late morning sun. Rehan moved to the side of the room, where large scrolls lay in an oblong wooden box. He picked out one of them and unrolled it onto the table, revealing a detailed map of the city.

A thud of iron interrupted the silence as the doors to the chamber heaved open. Sharan al-Barmaki entered first, his expression conveying pristine calm, while the man behind him dabbed at beads of sweat on his brow.

Rehan gestured to the seats opposite him. "What news, Emir Firaz?"

"Nothing good, Sayyidi," Firaz bowed his head, "My spies have not returned in days, we still do not know where the insurgents are hiding."

"We must assume they've been captured," said Sharan, "or worse."

Rehan seemed unfazed by his advisor's deduction, instead bringing his attention to the sprawling map spread over the table. He placed a finger on the governor's residence in the western quarter and traced a line down the main roads to the site of the most recent skirmish.

The city of Rey was divided into four quarters that met in a central square. The northern quarter was a trade hub, receiving imports via the Caspian sea. The western quarter held ministerial offices and residences, as well as those of wealthy merchants and Emirs. The majority of citizens resided in the southern and eastern quarters, where local commerce and small tradesmen thrived.

Rehan pursed his lips in thought. The buildings damaged in the attack were a leather shop, a horse stable, and an apothecary.

"Did any horses die in the fire?" He asked abruptly.

Sharan frowned, and Firaz looked equally perplexed. "Two, Sayyidi. Five were terribly injured, we had to..." He let the words hang in the air. "The others were relocated to the northern quarter's stables."

"Where else have they caused a ruckus?"

The governor skimmed the map and pointed out two locations in the north, and one in the east.

Rehan studied the map in silence for several moments.

"What are you thinking?" asked Sharan finally.

The Prince sucked in a long breath before answering, "The intent of a rebellion, at least a good one, is to destabilise the area sufficiently so it can be captured, no?"

Sharan's eyes widened in realisation as he surveyed the places that had been attacked.

"They struck the stables in the south and the messenger coops in the east, cutting off transport and communication in those areas," Rehan voiced the Barmaki's thoughts as they formed, "The food stores in the north have been destroyed, which means you will have to begin rationing soon, Firaz."

"These aren't some amateur upstarts as I had first assumed," said Sharan, tapping his finger on the edge of the table.

"No they aren't, and I have a feeling they didn't come up with this strategy themselves."

"You think there is an inside man?"

"Possibly," said the Prince, "But we can find out once we capture one of the bastards."

Sharan nodded his agreement. "We need to figure out where they will attack next."

"If you were trying to besiege the city from within where would you strike next?" Rehan asked.

"They have already made their mark in the north, east, and south," said Firaz, "That leaves only the west." His finger found the western quarter on the map. "Here, the most important site is the aqueduct. It supplies water to the rest of the city via small underground networks."

"They could poison the water supply..." noted Sharan. "What about the ministerial offices? Those would be my target if I were attempting to take over the city."

"Each of my ministers has a personal guard. They are not easy targets, in my opinion," said Firaz.

"They could attack your own home as well, Emir Firaz," said Rehan, "I suggest you increase the guard around the ministers and yourself."

"Agreed," said Sharan. "There is also this area here." He pointed to the central square, where a tall minaret spiralled upwards, its balconies overlooking the four quarters of Rey.

"Demolishing the minaret would destroy the morale of the citizens," cried Firaz, holding his head. "I should have acted sooner, Sayyidi, you must forgive me." He dipped his chin in shame, ready to receive a rebuke.

"Keep your head straight, Firaz," Rehan chided as he marked the aqueduct, the square, and the ministers' compound on the map with red ink. "For now I want you to double the guard around the aqueduct bridges and your residence. And for added measure, put archers on the minaret balconies."

Sharan beamed with admiration as the Prince's strategy unfolded. "You mean to protect all three vulnerable points."

Despite the Barmaki's hopeful demeanour, Firaz's expression remained drawn. "The city guard will be stretched thin, but I will do as you command, Sayyidi."

The sinews in Rehan's jaw tightened. There was nothing more he could do until the governor's spies returned with something useful, or until the rebels made themselves known of their own accord. He was not good at watching and waiting; he needed something tangible to strike, a target he could aim at, flesh he could stab.

The time would come soon enough.

X

The western quarter lay still in the twilight as Rehan slinked out of the governor's estate. In the distance the central aqueduct rose above the stone and marble buildings like a watchful sentinel. Rehan turned into an alley off the main road, his footfalls the only sound in the otherwise dead quiet streets.

He walked adjacent to the main road, keeping his eye on the base of the aqueduct, and changing his trajectory accordingly. The cold air tasted of salt and juniper, unfamiliar and unlike Baghdad in every way, where sand and heat permeated even the most remote chambers in the palace.

Three days had passed since they increased the guard in the western quarter, but there was still no sign of an imminent threat from the white flag. Word may have got out that the Prince was in Rey, and they were treading cautiously as a result. Whatever the reason was, Rehan had had enough of twiddling his thumbs in the governor's mansion. He had to get out and do something.

Thoughts circled through his mind as he made another turn to take him closer to the aqueduct.

"That's a dead end."

Rehan's hand fell to his sword hilt instinctively. He'd been so consumed by the atmosphere of the city that he failed to remain vigilant. If it wasn't a voice he recognised, he would have been inclined to strike.

"It appears you are useful after all," he said wryly, turning to see Sharan al-Barmaki emerge from the shadow of a doorway.

He was dressed in muted shades of brown, looking more like a common labourer than the Empire's chief strategist. The pair fell into step beside each other as Sharan guided them down the correct path to the aqueduct.

"You aren't going to question why I'm out here?" Rehan asked after a brief silence.

Sharan shook his head "It's probably for the same reason I am."

A ghost of a smile played on Rehan's lips. The Barmakis all seemed to speak like they were on the verge of running out of words altogether. It made conversing with them more of a challenge, and Rehan was never one to shy away from those.

Soon, the central aqueduct towered over them, its stone columns covered in dried moss. The masonry stretched all the way outside the city walls, disappearing into a misty valley far to the west where springs and natural rivers fed the conduit. Towards the central square the structure broke into smaller channels and pipes to supply water to the rest of the city.

One of the columns before the two men was slightly thicker than the others. They approached it and circled around to a small wooden door, which Sharan pushed open gently.

Silence slowly gave way to the gentle swishing sound of water as they ascended the spiral staircase hidden within the column and stepped out onto the wooden bridge crossing the aqueduct. The guard leaning against the far wall, clearly in the midst of dozing, jumped at the sound of the creaking wood, scrambled for the dagger at his hip until he recognisedwhom he was facing.

He fell to his knees, breathless. "Sayyidi, forgive—"

The vein in Rehan's forehead throbbed in annoyance. "Get up, and lower your voice lest the whole damned city learns I'm here."

"Yes Sayyi— sir." The guard, who Rehan now saw was just a boy, no older than fifteen or so, rose and stiffened to attention.

"At ease, soldier," said Sharan. "Where is your companion? There should be two men at every checkpoint."

"Shift change, sir."

Rehan peered over the side of the aqueduct wall. Far below, the city's early risers were beginning to dot the dawn-lit streets, appearing like tiny black beetles from his vantage point.

"I'll stay here till he comes back. Sharan, go check the upstream points. I want everyone alert."

Sharan nodded once, then disappeared back down the stairwell without a word. A gentle, salty breeze tickled Rehan's nose as he surveyed the tops of the buildings on either side of the conduit.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the boy fidgeting with his scabbard. "What's your name, lad?"

"Dara, sir," he replied, stiffening again.

Rehan's lips pursed to suppress his amusement. "Well, Dara, have you seen anything suspicious from up here?"

Dara shook his head. "It's been quiet."

Rehan crouched at the edge of the platform, his gaze narrow and pensive. "Too quiet," he murmured.

As if the city read his thoughts, the silence was swallowed by a sharp ringing of bells, calling for the morning prayer. People filtered through the arches of the aqueduct as they made their way to the Blue Mosque, which rose up in a flourish of grand minarets and domes on the left side of the conduit. Its turquoise and teal tiles gleamed in the low light, a veritable oasis amidst the dull stone and red brick buildings. At one point further down, the mosque building was so close to the aqueduct one could easily leap across the narrow gap.

And it was there that Rehan now saw, hiding in plain sight against the edge of a pearlescent dome, a figure clad head to toe in white.

Every muscle in his body seized, the veins in his neck bulging as he leaned forward to confirm what he was seeing was not a trick of the light.

"They're here," he said, more to himself than to Dara, but the boy's attention was transfixed behind him, at the mouth of the stairwell.

"Sayyidi—!"

Rehan whipped his head around just in time to see a ghostly figure emerge from the darkness, sabre drawn and aimed at his neck. Dara threw himself between them and raised his dagger to block the strike, and the sharp clang of steel echoed over the water.

The man's eyes blazed with fury when they met Rehan's. "Usurper!" he shouted, poising to strike again, but Rehan had already spun out of the way and brandished his weapon, pulling Dara to safety behind him.

Blood rushed to his finger tips and heated the vermeiled hilt of his sword. Fuelled in equal parts by rage and the need to protect Dara, he parried the white-clad's next slash and kicked him in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards. The man had only a split second to recover before Rehan lunged for the opening on his right side, but, to Rehan's surprise, the white-clad was fast enough to parry the strike. He jabbed to put some distance between them, stance shifting from aggressive to defensive.

Clearly the man had received some training.

But it would not be enough.

A wicked grin spread across Rehan's face. He flexed his shoulders, biding time, then went for another lethal slash, briefly catching the man's shoulder as he twisted to dodge. Rehan bent low to avoid the white-clad's counter, seamlessly switched his sword to his left hand, and in two steps had the man pinned against the wooden wall with his blade. His right hand closed around the man's wrist, and he let out a strained whimper as the tendons in his hand were crushed by Rehan's vice-grip.

A thin line of red appeared where Rehan's blade pressed into the rebel's throat. If he made any sudden moves, he'd choke on his own blood. After a hollow pause, his sword clattered to the floor with a thud, a symbol of surrender, but Rehan did not loosen his hold.

"You call me usurper," Rehan began.

They stood eye to eye, so close Rehan could feel the white-clad's ragged breaths against his face.

See the defiance in his eyes.

"My people call me liberator," he finished, and thrust his blade deep into the man's gut.

There was silence, but for the rushing water below.

He pulled it out and stabbed him again.

And again.

And again.

Rehan turned around, his expression a mask of serenity. Dara stood frozen, hands curled uselessly by his sides as he took in the sight of the deep crimson blood seeping into the Prince's clothes, flowing down his arms like a river down a mountainside. Had he not witnessed the fight with his own eyes, he would have feared the Prince was injured.

But of course, there was no chance of that.

"Dara, go down and—"

Rehan stared past the boy to the water behind him. Dara followed his gaze, and the light dimmed in his eyes.

Bodies, floating down the aqueduct.

Rehan's throat tightened, his demeanour a stark contrast to the confidence he'd had just moments before. He stared into the men's faces as they drifted towards them, heart thudding in anticipation of seeing Sharan's bloated visage. He let out a shaky breath when he saw he was not among them.

The rebels did not destroy the aqueduct as he thought they would, but instead contaminated the water with the blood of their men. He had underestimated their cunning, and most of all their brutality.

The cloud of despair around him passed, suddenly replaced by tense resolve. He moved to the far wall and grabbed a roll of rope, normally used for rappelling down the side of the aqueduct.

"We can't let them stay in there. Dara, can you swim?"

Light returned to the boy's eyes, as if he were seeing the Prince for the first time. He nodded, and quickly stripped off his shirt, shoes, and scabbard. Rehan looped the rope around Dara's wrist and secured it, then hooked the other end to the wall.

The water was stone cold when Dara jumped in, but as the bodies approached the clear stream grew murky and warm, as if he were being suffocated by a cloud of blood. He swallowed down a bout of nausea and quickly grabbed the bodies by whatever he could reach — an arm, a leg, a handful of hair, and wove the rope around them. It was a crude chain of dead men, but it was all he could manage to do with what they had.

Rehan held the other end of the rope and hauled them up one by one. His whole body cramped from exertion, but he gritted his teeth and remained stoic. He had to keep himself whole, if only for the boy.

They worked in tense silence. Rehan briefly peered over the edge of the aqueduct; nothing was amiss on the ground below, to his immense relief. Once the last corpse had been pulled onto the platform, he helped Dara up and began untangling the rope strewn around them. Just when he thought he could let his guard down, he caught movement from the next checkpoint in the corner of his eye.

A sharp crackle and boom resounded over the length of the aqueduct, and Dara's eyes widened in horror when the checkpoint ahead burst into flames. A single man emerged from the fray — the white-clad who had hidden himself on the roof of the mosque.

Rehan gritted his teeth, and his body moved of its own accord. Time seemed to slow as he made the leap from the platform onto the edge of the aqueduct wall.

The white-clad seemed to catch Rehan's eye despite the large distance between them. Taunting.

Rehan surged forward, one foot in front of the other on the narrow stone wall. He did not see the rushing water or the fifty foot drop on either side of him, only the white-clad, getting further and further away.

As the flames licked at the sky before him, Dara's impassioned cry barely registered.

"Iaish al-khalifa!"

Long live the King.

X

A/N: Thank you for your patience while waiting for this chapter. I had to rewrite it several times before I figured out the direction I wanted to go in, so it took a lot longer. Please leave your reviews!

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