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Marshal was having a bad day.

First, he woke up. He had found out his father had passed, and fell into a predicament with his own inner religious turmoil.

Now he entered the outer courtyard. Several figures trees dominated the sandstone keep. Servants pulled carts of supplies and guards patrolled around the arched doors.

But the real attraction was the group of Imams and other priestly figures. were arguing about several very secular topics that would take Marshal years to unravel. It made him want to wet his pants.

One of the Imams spotted Marshal, then alerted the other Imams. They bowed in front of Marshal, then the leading Imam addressed him.

"Greetings, my prince. It is an honor to serve you."

Chase nervously greeted them. Then he began to ask questions in a quiet tone. "When is the Crowning?"

The lead Imam spoke again. Within the hour, my prince. The arrangements for the feast are coming along nicely. I do not know the details, but the head chef and the guards had seen the guests and diplomats of the foreign dignitaries ride in earlier, through the northern pass."

"Thank you. Who will be crowning me?"

An older and no doubt wiser Imam stepped through the small group. He wore white robes in contrast to the other's teal robes, and had a white beard and hair. As old as he may be, he still had a twinkle in his eyes.

"I will, my prince. The ceremony will begin when the last of the dignitaries enter the gates of the castle."

Marshal nodded, nervously. The last thing he wanted was foreign dignitaries at his doorstep. They could only mean trouble.

A low horn sounded across the castle courtyard. Several guards were alerted and opened the gates. Several soldiers, armed with falchions and shields, and wore. turbans and tunics of teal cloth. One was ahead of the rest.

"Ahmed Abaza, Sultan of the Mamluks, rightful rulers of Syria and Egypt!"

And in came a platform carried by four slaves. And on it sat a man in richly decorated robes and gold and silver jewels. He had a jeweled crown over a turban.

But his face told Marshal everything he needed to know.

He had a cruel face, angular and strong, with dark brown eyes and a thick goatee. He looked at Marshal with pure hatred before putting on a neutral face for diplomacy.

As he entered the courtyard, he jumped off the platform and walked towards him, beckoning his guards.

"Why hello, little prince.", The Sultan snarled, "Are you still wetting your diaper?"

Marshal simply glared at him, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. He didn't deserve one. People like him craved attention.

The Sultan let out a cruel chuckle. "Quiet, just like your father. He never did anything."

The old imam spoke up, challenging the Sultan. "He fought half of Europe, Sultan Ahmed, you act like he was a simple administrator, like your predecessor."

The Sultan looked the at the imam with hatred, then backhanded him to the ground. The old man struggled to rise to his feet, squirming as the vile man forced a leather boot on his chest.

"You shall not talk to royalty in such a way, you peasant."

But the imam only chuckled. "How do you feel, harming one of Allah's servants?"

The Sultan snarled. "You are nothing but an impudent worm under my boot, you pauper."

Marshal had to do something, before the old imam was killed.

"Stop this madness, Ahmed, before you kill him!'

"He deserves death!"

"And you deserve to leave this place, now!", Shouted Marshal, venom seething in his words.

The cruel Ahmed looked Marshal in the eye, a look of pure hatred. "I am Sultan. You are but a boy. You have no right to speak up to me."

But it was Marshal's turn to tell the vile man off. "You are but a guest in my court, expected to be humbled, as everyone else. If you will not respect me, then you will leave this place, and never return."

The Sultan looked at Marshall incredulously, shocked that Marshal would speak to him I'm such a way.

"You-"

"Leave, Ahmed", growled Marshal, "now"

The Sultan turned around, looking at the guards watching the spectacle, and knowing he was outnumbered, muttered a dozen or so curses under his breath, and boarded his seat on the platform, the servants carrying him to his galley.

Marshal helped the old imam up, him holding his own chest where the boot had been, and coughing wildly.

"Thank you, young Sultan, you may have just saved my life."

Marshal gave him a warm smile. "Nobody touches my subjects, especially not a servant of Allah."

Marshal almost choked on his words. He didn't know why he said that last part. It felt genuine to him, but why. He wasn't Muslim, at least, not yet.

Marshal decided to drop it, knowing it would only cause him more of a headache than he already had.

The old imam stood tall and proud, beside Marshal, and prepared for the ceremony.

"With the guests arrived and Sultan Ahmed ridden from the court, the time has come for our young prince to become Sultan!"

The crowd that had gathered, both local and guest alike, cheered, shouting Marshal's name. He blushed, but regained his composure as they walked through the open courtyard and into the throne room of the castle, a small but lavishly decorated hall with a small throne at the end. A banquet was laid upon a beautifully carved table in the center.

On the table, decorative bowls held plums, figs, and grapes, while platters held a mix of aromatic

cheeses and spiced meats. Jugs held black tea, coffee, and a sweet yogurt drink. There were bowls of aromatic soup and a spit fired goat in the center.

The crowd shuffled in, as the guests sat farther from his seat, a richly ornate chair carved from birch wood. It was slightly taller and had a cushioned seat. He walked across the hall to his chair and sat last, the court looking at him. The imams stood behind him, the eldest holding the ottoman crown, a silken turban adorned with gold and jewels.

"Before we eat", declared the oldest imam, "we must acknowledge that we are blessed by Allah to have such a capable young prince, who will soon rule that mighty ottoman state. May his reign be long and prosperous!"

The whole hall clapped, the sound of applause echoing off the walls and ceiling. The imam placed the turban upon his head, and gracefully bowed to Marshal.

"I live to serve, Sultan."

0 0 0

Marshal lay dormant in his room, on his bed, that same bed he had awoken this morning. The sheets had been changed and the smell of sickly sweat had been removed, but it still held the memories.

The bookshelf was the same, as well as the furniture and the open window. The same Quran sat on the shelf, the most elegant book there.

He was covered in his sheets, relaxing. It had began to rain outside, soaking the earth. It grew cold out, the late November storm bringing in the cold from the Eastern mountains.

He may have been relaxed, but his mind was wound up like a spring. He still hadn't decided if he should become muslim yet, because his Catholic family, or at least, what was left of it. He only had his aunt Janice and his uncle Robert and their two daughters left, and they still reminded him to go to church every Sunday, even though there was no church in Adventure bay.

He still loved them deeply, like the parents he never lost. They took care of him until he left the academy, and had made sure he was happy. He also missed Beatrice and Sharlene, their two daughters. Both were into science and physics, and had scholarships to go to college.

But as much as he loved them, he had continued to drift apart from them, due to their strict adherence to the old Catholic ways and their 'perfect family' attitude. They always wanted to be the family that everyone looked up to, the great next door neighbors. They were also extremely religious, always praying and they all went to church three days a week.

Marshal simply couldn't handle it anymore. The week he left, they got into a huge fight, Marshal angry because of how strict they were and his family angry because of Marshal's… choice words. Needless to say, they stayed apart for a while. They had eventually made up, but his family never looked at him the same way again.

But he was also very hesitant to jump feet first into a new religion, it was like swimming in the ocean. A new tide might drag you out to sea and you would just have to swim back again. He felt very… peculiar and uneasy about the entire subject.

A knock on the door dragged him from his thoughts, and as he let them in, another young servant walked in, carrying a tray of black tea and a small platter of salty cheese and fresh bread, the aroma mixing to create a potently attractive scent.

The servant sat the small tray on the nightstand and bowed respectfully, then returned out the door and to his quarters. The food reminded him of the feast earlier, a large spectacle of Muslim dancers and performers along with stories and delicious food. They had also partaken in prayer, but it felt… joyful, and lenient compared to prayer at his Uncle's house. He had also met some very interesting women at the banquet as well, young women who claimed to be concubines. Marshal did not know what that meant, but it sounded like a very personal word.

They were all very pretty hounds, but one had caught his eye, and lightly spotted dalmatian named Teodora. Her name even sounded unique and exotic, like queen from a far off land. But what really caught his eye was the twinkle in her eye and her witty jokes, but also her reserved attitude. She was polite, respectful, and very kind, although Marshal had guessed it may had all been a shell, because he was Sultan.

Another strike of thunder sounded, shaking him out of his thoughts and making him jump under the covers. It had been raining since the end of the banquet, and the guests had left on their ships hours ago. He had a long day, and he needed to sleep.

Sleeping in a dream. How quant.

Rocky awoke to the smell of a hot mountainside.

It was so hot, like he was inside an oven. Then he noticed he was inside a small room, walls made of sandstone, and the window was open, without cover.

He was laying in a bedroll, no bedframe, and inside the room we're a few small dressers and a small table.

He didn't know where he was. It felt medieval, but also very… different. The heat from the window proved that this was not anywhere he knew before, because Adventure Bay had been a cold place, in northern Oregon. This place felt like a desert.

But the next thing that surfaced was the fact that he was inside a room with sandstone walls. He had no recollection of such a place.

As he was thinking, someone first into his room, One with a small goatee and thick and curly black hair.

"The castle, it is in ruins, we have been raided…"

"W-wha?", Asked Rocky, unsure of what to make of the situation. He didn't know this man, much less trust his word.

"Horsemen, from the East. They were quick like lightning, and stormed the town. People have been injured beyond belief.

That snapped Rocky into attention. If people were hurt, then he would help.

He charged out of the room, following the man out to the front courtyard, where the gate was indeed, in ruins. The castle was on a mountain pass, on the foothills. The area was dominated by a sandstone landscape, rugged and searing hot, and the front courtyard showed, with a few citrus trees and date palms. Open air tables dominated the courtyard, and several guards holding their ground by the gates, bows ready, in case the attackers returned.

Farther down the pass, the village burned. It sat on the dry farmland, the only farmland around. Small gates for sheep and cows were set up around the village, but otherwise, it was undefended. Guards were rescuing the villagers and bringing the injured up to the small fortress.

A small temple of sorts was the only building that was spared. The gates to the inside we're closed, and the windows were sealed shut. A crescent moon with a star in the center was the ornate decoration on the domed roof.

Another few guards jogged out from the fortress, some obviously injured. A total of twenty stood before him, ready for orders. They all wore thick leather armor and helmets and carried composite bows and sabers.

The one in front, an officer of sorts, stepped forward. He wore better armor, and looked older and more rugged, like he had fought much of his life. He gave a whole hearted salute, and the rest of them followed in suite.

"My Shiekh, the raiders have left, but the town is still in chaos. What are your orders?"

Rocky was stunned. He had no clue what to do. He never really gave orders when he performed his duties, he rather fixed things and help Rubble clear the debris. He had no experience in leading.

He looked down at the town. It was burning to ash. He couldn't let it burn. A burnt town is a useless town.

"Gather both the guards and the civilians, and get water to put out the fires. We cannot lose the town, less they come back and raid the fortress."

And that is what they did. Rocky rushed down with them, helping put out the blaze and save civilians from the rubble.

He helped search house after house, dragging soot covered, burned and sweaty, but Alive people out of the ruins. He had suffered some burns himself, but shrugged them off. He had to help people.

As he charged into one of the larger huts, a three room cottage with mud walls and a flat mud roof, he was greeted by the foul stench of a burning goat and broken, burning roof beams. There were voices in another room, people muttering.

He crashed through a pile of burning wood and found himself in a crumbling kitchen, a mother cradling her baby, waiting for the inevitable to happen. He wouldn't let the flames consume her.

"Come on! The house is collapsing, we need to leave, NOW!"

She looked up at him in amazement, and picked herself up, her headscarf and all, and carried her baby out of the burning kitchen. The hall was lined with more rubble, which he burst through and cleared a path to freedom.

And just as they had exited the door, the roof caved in, succumbing to the constant sapping of the flames. The mother looked shell shocked, her home destroyed and her savings gone. But at least she had her life. With that, she could earn it all again.

She turned to him, cradling the crying baby in her arms. "Thank you, for you saved my life, and the life of my son. Is there any way to repay you, my Shiekh?"

Rocky shook his head, giving her a warm smile. She nodded, bowed respectfully, and left him to his own devices.

Now it was time for him to get some damn answers.

0 0 0

He sat in the courtyard of the castle, along with several men that claimed to be his… advisors. One was an older man, with the same Crescent moon symbol from the temple weathervane around his neck. He wore simple robes and leather sandals.

The one across from him was a big burly man, like a bull. He wore similar armor as the men outside, but it was cleaner, sturdier, and we'll decorated. He also had a thick beard and a white turban on. A saber hung at his side, and a bow was on his back.

The third and final 'advisor' was a wealthy, dark skinned man, a foreigner by the looks of him, with a shaved head and thick mustache. He wore trinkets, jewelry, and the fine robes of a merchant, but also carried a scimitar on his back.

In the center of the table was a map of the surrounding lands, a mountainous region dominated by small tribal cities, similar to the one he resided in. They each had small fortresses and some land suitable for farming, but we're mostly confined to hunting mountain goats and herding sheep. None had walls, and his had one of the few fortresses within the mountain range. The only reason it seemed he was attacked was because his city lied on the outskirts of the range, near the open desert and on the far Western edge of the Indus Delta.

His personal guards, men wearing a leather vest and boots, as well as thick robes and turbans, stood by the doors and guarded the halls. They carried scimitars and sabers, as well as composite bows. The turbans covered their faces, so only their eyes showed. They were menacing on their own without the few cannons outside, on the walls of the small fortress, guarding the entrance and promising a gruesome death to any who trespassed.

The main advisor, the large guard, pointed at the mountain range. "These are the eleven major tribes, all hidden within their own fortresses and they all have their own armies and rulers." He then pointed at the first tribe, near the foothills. "This is us, Kalat. We are wedged between the Sunni Sultans of the east and the Shiite Sheikhs of the west. We are a primary target for a multitude of enemies, mainly because we sit on the most fertile land between the mountains, the Small plot that borders us and the Indus."

He then pointed a little to the north, to another tribe. "This is Kandahar, another powerful tribe and our rival clan. They have attacked us before, and no doubt would they do so again. They probably helped guide the Sultan's forced through the mountain pass, otherwise they would have lost half their army from attrition alone, and the other half would have deserted them.

Rocky looked at the map, seeing the different tribes. There were many of them, all small City states and fortresses. He also saw the Sultanates to the east, a small empire sprawled out over the river valley. He could see their capital, Delhi, a city that dwarfed his own.

And something clicked.

"This wasn't just a simple raid… no, this was different. Why would our rival help the Sultan, knowing full well once we fell they would be the next target. This was part of something bigger.", Stated Rocky. "The clansmen of Kandahar used the Sultan to soften us up, so they could move in for the kill."

The Guardsman looked at him wearily. "What you say is not only a very risky move for them, but also a very dishonourable one. The Clansmen would not partake in such an action, especially not with heretics and heathens. What brews between the Sultans and Shahs are centuries of religious strife and social instability, since the end of the Timur's invasion. The shah of Kandahar would rather die than Ally themselves with such filth."

"When was the last time we heard from them, threat or otherwise?", Asked Rocky. This couldn't be a coincidence, "And you did say the Sultan's forces would have perished without native help."

"For payment, not a political maneuver. For all we know, the old bag, Seli, may as well be counting coins in his keep."

The foreign merchant only chuckled. "Either way, if he was involved, this is no less than an act of war. The Kandahari partook in aggressive actions, and this is a Clear chance to strike."

"With what, fearful peasants, dead men? We have no army, just a small Garrison. And might I remind you, half that Garrison is either dead or injured. We do not have the manpower to raid such a fort.", Snapped the Guardsman, "Not to mention the walls are just as thick as ours. If the Sultan's army couldn't breach ours, then we certainly can't breach the ones in Kandahar!"

The merchant chuckled. "The first part is between you and the Sultan. The second is my task.", He said slyly, his thick accent sticking out like a sore thumb. He rolled out a small scroll, with a design on it… no, a blueprint.

"This is a little idea me and some… associates have dreamed up with a little or our spare time. Several of these should be sufficient to take down the walls, don't you agree?"

The Guardsman snatched up the scroll irritably, and began to decipher it. As he read, his eyes widened.

"We do not have the money to build one of these, not to mention several! We cannot just pull money out of a hat!"

"Yet we have the cannons on the walls."

The guard captain looked ready to explode. "Those were gifts from the Timur, given to us almost a century ago! They are old, rusted, chipped, and too small to be effective against the walls!"

The Merchant just looked at him. "I'm not saying that we will use them, I'm simply saying that if we can use those cannons for over a century, then we can easily use more. It isn't like our people are new to cannons."

Within the midst of the argument, the older man piped up. "Taking Kandahar is fine and good, bit we still must discuss the safety of the town. We have no walls, no fortifications. Half our Garrison is out of commission. We need to be able to defend ourselves before we can expand. Doing the opposite is like a cat exposing it's stomach during a fight."

Both the merchant and the Guardsman looked at each other, and they nodded. "That should be primary concern, although might I remind you walls are expensive. We cannot just snap our fingers and walls rise up from the ground.", Stated the Guardsman, "and we cannot build it ourselves without a mason at our disposal."

Then the merchant perked up. "And that is where I come in. My associates and I have some resources at our disposal. I can track down a mason in the area. It will take some time, though. My suggestion is to replenish the Garrison and see how you can find the money to afford this. Of all goes well, the Sultans won't attacking us anymore."

And with that, the merchant left. The Guardsman excused himself and did the same.

And how do we fund all this? That is the question swimming in your head, isn't it?", Said the older man,"I may be no treasurer, bit your father entrusted me with his treasury. He had saved up a small fortune for an event like this, enough to pay for everything and more. All we need is time."

Rocky nodded. "how long until you think the Merchant will have his mason?"

The old man chuckled. "Give him a few days. He'll have everything we need ready to go. Hopefully, the Guardsman will not object to the invasion after we are secure. The cannons are a good idea."

Rocky wanted to ask questions, but everything still felt so… real, like he hadn't fallen asleep. He didn't want the old man to think he was insane. So he followed along. Besides, what better way to find out the answers then to go with the flow.

So time to play the part.

"He doesn't need to agree with me. I am Sheikh. He just has to follow my orders."

The old man chuckled. "True, true. He was always a stubborn one, though. Even more so than Azul. At least that merchant hid it well."

"Now, let's take inventory, shall we?", said the old man, "Arslan, Historian and Natural Scientist, at your service."

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