Disclaimer: …don't own characters from Sailor Moon… but the rest is mine
Note: I have decided! Since so many of you wish for this story to stay on the board, it will (cheers…!). But, I'm totally redoing it. Some of you know that feeling, when you go back to your old stories and laugh at your old mistakes; I'm bruised from falling off my chair, actually. So… look forward to the changes. I'm also changing some things so it will be one fic, not five as I had originally planned… On with the story…
…
Decades ago, there had been a thing called peace. The widowed queen of Terrene, Gaia, ruled with justice and fairness, and beside her were four adviser-generals: Marcus Leront, James Lawrence, Nicolas Kyle and Zachary Cornwall to guard her and her yet unborn child. But the days of tranquility were… brief.
For, two days after the winter solstice, they were attacked. None were ready, not even the queen's personal guard, for the land had been in the midst of celebration. The attack was led by none other than the queen's own brother, Erebus, whose fair features concealed a nature of darkness. Beside him stood Eris the Nyxne, known famously as the reincarnation of Nyx, goddess of night and an embodiment of evil.
And so Gaia, greatest queen of the south was dethroned. Kept a prisoner within the walls she herself had built, she cloaked about her an enchantment that concealed her pregnant state, so she might buy some time to turn the tables on her brother. And she bade her faithful adviser-generals to sweat allegiance to the usurper. Unwilling they were, naturally, but what choice did they have? Die, and forever leave the throne to Darkness, Night and their children? No. They could only wait.
The time came when a long awaited son was born to the newly crowned king and queen. They named him Adonis, for he was beautiful of face. With the blood of his heathen mother and dark, somber father, the young prince was the very embodiment Death, from which the sun forever hid her face.
Uncharacteristically, Marcus made a terrible misjudgment. He had managed to turn three of the four armies of Terrene against their liege. He was certain of a successful rebellion. However, he had underestimated the power of the sovereigns, whose evil was no match for mortal men. The rebellion was a failure, needless to say, and the four generals and their remaining soldiers fled north, pursued by the Nyxne herself. Taking refuge in the northern desert, where the sun shone hot for half the year, they forced her to turn back, for the light was too much for her.
In the desert the exiled generals now settled. But from time to time, they would disguise themselves as some civilian and steal into Terrene, simply for the pleasure to stand on their homeland soil once more. They often fought for the neighboring kingdoms whenever Erebus decided he needed more land, but after the blood lust and slaughter, they would vanish back into the shifting sands, and the kingdoms they had defended would wonder whether the knights had been merely a figment of the imagination.
Thus these nomadic rebels earned, from those they had defended and those who feared them, the title of 'Arabian Knights'. In time, the generals became known as Khalid Kunzite, Jamal Jadeite, Nadir Nephrite and Zameel Zoisite.
These four, under the protection of Aether, father of Marcus and god of light, watched as their beloved Terrene fell further beneath the blanket of evil that spread from Erebus and the Nyxne and their son Adonis, embodiment of Death. But they were powerless to do anything but wait, and grieve as their beloved Motherland cried out in pain and poverty.
Yet, just as within Pandora's Box was Hope, there was hope in the generals' hearts, for there was an ancient prophecy, left by a lame seer, who foresaw that there would be peace, brought and blessed by the gods themselves.
Four sons of the land that is past,
Daughters three, and two from afar –
Shadow wings about them are cast.
Hear her voice, the Motherland's cries!
Hesitate not
The Priestess, the Messenger, the Hunters,
The Musician, the Lover, the Truth-bearers
And hesitate not
The Mariner and the Son
In the den where Darkness lies
For the hour is upon you.
...
Three years later…
...
"Lord General! A word, please." A man with a tousled mane of golden hair burst into the tent.
"Speak, James." The quill paused as Marcus Leront lifted his head.
"We have sighted a party traveling a mile within the borders."
"A party?" He frowned. These people had to be insane to want to travel through the desert. Unless… "How many are there?"
"Thirty at the most; the men are armed but it seems to be a procession of sorts. A woman on her way to be wed, maybe."
"A woman?" He rose from his seated position, pale eyes burning, and James stared, surprised at his reaction. "In what direction do they hail from?"
"Further north. Verna Capitol, I think."
"And they head towards…?"
"Towards Terrene." James paused, blinking, "Do you... do you think it might be... her?"
"Well, it's certainly plausible." Marcus sat back down, picking up his quill again. "We will speak of this later. Take your men and be sure to intercept them."
James grinned in self-satisfaction. "I knew you would react like this. Nephrite and his wing left just moments ago."
His commander glanced up at this unexpected move on behalf of his general, who was being uncharacteristically persistent. "Come now. Weren't we to talk about her? Who is she anyway?"
Without looking up again, the ever impassive general explained coolly. "She's the daughter of the Vernane sultan Emir, the Princess Ma-Ajmala Jasmina, and a Noire-blanchette like her mother."
James nodded, quietly contemplative. "No wonder that black dog wants her. He wants her for his son, right, so he would control all that negative energy? That was what all those messengers were about?"
Marcus made a sound of agreement. "Indeed. Erebus was only using those raids to force the sultan's hand before the princess found out about her heritage. No self-respecting girl would choose to be a Noire, so unless it was through marriage, he couldn't have gotten the energy any other way."
...
...
The Princess Ma-Ajmala Jasmina, despite everything, was not a spoiled child. But she had been sorely tempted to act like one when her father announced her betrothal to the Heir of Terrene. Secretly, as her people celebrated and congratulated her, she thought of it as a death sentence, but what choice did she have? She could hardly sit unfeelingly and watch her people be slaughtered like sheep by those Terrence savages. But the thought of having to outlive her days in a harem was simply… she shuddered. Their proposal may have been expressed in honeyed words, but the underlying threat was so blatant she felt a pang of disgust for Erebus and his wife. And their son, of course. Surely it wasn't normal to have a harem of over three hundred men and women!
Now, she wished she had fought more, resisted more. Perched on a chaise in the middle of the desert, dressed in the most indecent of silks, she felt every single one of those convincing arguments she had had with herself fall to dust. It's for the good of the Capitol! Actually, it was better for the economy – it wasn't as if the Terrence were really going to slaughter her people. They were raiding the place, not razing. It's your duty as a princess! Not. Three of her older sisters had married common soldiers for love. It was hardly fair that the youngest daughter be traded for a peace treaty.
So, lost in her thoughts, she never noticed the amassing host of masked men, glancing up from behind the sand dune…
Nicolas Kyle once again cursed the second-in-command as he crouched behind a sand dune. Though a Terrence through and through, his mother had been a descendent of Jovion traders; of the four of them, he was the least tolerant of heat. And despite knowing this, that wretched James would pull rank on him and order him into the middle of the desert to fight? The man was either very sadistic, or plainly insane. His eyes narrowed in annoyance as sweat trickled down his back. Zach would have suited the job just fine, yet… When he got his hands on the cad…
One of his men, a Vernane named Hassan nudged him sharply in the ribs. "Begging your pardon, sir, but the procession is within sight."
He glanced briefly at the train of camels heading south. "Can you confirm that they are Vernane?"
The man nodded, "Yes. See the dove upon the banners? It is a royal procession."
Nicolas frowned. By the gods, he wasn't in the mood for a fight! But he turned to his men. "We have orders to intercept this camel train. Kill all who oppose you; we can't afford to have word of this reach Erebus. Leave the women to me – the lord general has further instructions concerning them."
"And do we take the loot back to Marid Fouad?" A young soldier asked eagerly.
He regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "You may take whatever you fancy, but do not touch the women, or your lord general will have my head!" But he smiled as he said this, as if he was but joking.
He turned back to the procession. "At my signal Hassan, your men will attack the left flank. I've positioned the horses just beyond the far dune – that'll keep the camels from bolting. Once their attention is distracted, Zubair, your men will take the right flank. And my men, we'll prevent any strays from escaping. Remember to keep downwind of the camels!"
The sub-commanders gave a sharp nod of understanding, as the camel train came into sight from behind a sand hill. Ignoring the soaking clothes that clung uncomfortably to his back, he watched as the mounted soldiers moved closer and closer to that imaginary line in the sand. He could feel the eyes of his men trained on him, and he squinted in concentration. Six… Four… Three…
The lead horse stumbled, front hoof catching on the 'line', and the tern whistle rippled from his lips, signaling the attack. Unsheathing his sword, he watched as Hassan's company struck the left of the procession. Soldiers, momentarily shocked, were now drawing weapons and attempting to fight back, but Nicolas could see that it was too late for them. Having turned their backs, Zubair's men assailed the right without difficulty. His own men, scattered about in a large ring, cornered those who thought to escape.
It was over in a moment. Red blood seeped into the golden sands, as Nicolas made his way to the center of the circle formed by his men. Two trembling women clung to a large curtained chaise, but he paid them no heed. He nodded for Zubair to take command as he drew the silk drape aside.
His eyes barely registered a sudden metallic glint, and it was out of instinct alone that caused him to fling an arm in front of his face as a short dagger was thrust towards his head. Feeling warm blood flow sluggishly down his arm, the corner of his mouth curved in a smirk as he waved off an advancing soldier. Smart woman…
In a quick movement that elicited a sharp intake of breath from the woman in the chaise, he withdrew his defensive arm and yanked out the knife without so much as a flinch, bringing the sharp point beneath her chin. Her furious green eyes flashed, but she didn't move. "Are you the princess of Verna Capitol?"
She trembled, but replied steadily. "Yes."
Eyes not leaving her form, he motioned to Hassan, who glanced briefly at the statuesque figure swathed in yellow silk, and whispered quietly in his commander's ear.
Nicolas turned back to the woman, a predatory smile gracing his lips. "I will ask one more time. Are you, or are you not the princess of Verna Capitol?"
Her gaze faltered, darting to the huddled figures of her attendants. "I-I…"
"I am."
He inclined his head, and slowly tearing his eyes from the brunette, alighted them upon the golden haired figure kneeling in the sand. His current prisoner made to protest, but a slight movement of the dagger halted any argument. "Rise then. Let me see your face."
Carefully, the prostrate form straightened and the third-in-command found himself staring at the mirror image of his queen's sister. Beside him, Hassan and the Vernane in his company fell to their knees, forehead pressed into the sand. "Rafi'ah Bathshira!"
...
...
Well, Jasmina wasn't just going to sit there and watch her maid get herself killed. When Litany suddenly pulled her out of the chaise during the attack, she had protested that the 'switch' action would be futile, as the bandits would probably kill everyone anyway. But that stubborn girl had insisted that there was a small chance the women would be kept captive and that a servant girl disguise would benefit her the most.
That it didn't work went without saying. The leader certainly wasn't stupid, asking the opinion of a man who was obviously Vernane. Litany didn't stand a chance. She had slowly revealed her face, waiting for the inevitable death blow, but had gotten formal homage instead. No one really called her the Rafi'ah Bathshira (Exquisite Seventh-born) anymore, as most her sisters were wedded into other families now, but it did instill the tiniest kernel of hope that perhaps, she wasn't to be killed.
She started in surprise as the tall man with the wild mahogany hair and bleeding arm dropped to a knee before her. "Princess. I am known as Nephrite, and I have orders from my lord to escort you to our camp."
Nephrite… A mineral? Nephrite… Where have I heard that bef- "Y-You're… one of them! One of the Knights!"
His thin lips curled wryly. "Glad to know our reputation precedes us. Come. Noon is approaching soon." He stood smoothly and motioned for his men to depart.
She scrambled to her feet. "My maids! They'll come, won't they? You couldn't leave them here!"
She could almost see he weigh the advantages against the disadvantages. The way he glanced at Litany had her rushing to reassure him. "Li-Litany won't be any trouble. Neither will Amarante."
The brunette, disgruntled, picked at the yellow silk she had donned. "How could you agree so readily? What makes you think he is trustworthy?"
Amarante caught up with them. "Don't be so suspicious, Lita. The Knights are rebels of Terrene, and doesn't a common enemy make us allies?"
Even Litany couldn't argue this point, and instead turned her energies to stumbling after the princess's punishing pace.
...
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