Authors Notes: I sound like a broken record with all these apologies, but I'll spare you the list of excuses.
It's 3am and I know I haven't written my review replies, but I'll do them in the morning. So if you wrote a review and want to get my input on what you said, then check back later! I also apologise for any mistakes. If I'm not happy with something, I get my mum to read it, but she's in bed and I don't want to wake her.
Thank you so much to everyone who does review, and fave and put this on their alerts. I can't say enough how good it makes me feel about my story. Really, you're all the best. I just hope I still am living up to your expectations of me!
Woffles92 xx
Chapter 12 – Forseen Fates
As Tamina watched the hoard invaded this supposed 'hidden' city in the valley of the slaves, one resounding thought echoed in her head. This is our fault, my fault. If I hadn't brought the dagger here none of this would have happened.
"We have to make a run for it," Dastan breathed.
"How? There's only one gate!" Tamina protested.
"No, there's a hidden tunnel under the city. If I can only remember how to get there…"
He closed his eyes, desperately trying to recall the forgotten time. His memory of the last time he'd been here was hazy, like a dream he'd had long ago. Opening his eyes again, he scanned the town, looking for somewhere that was familiar to him. Then, he saw the Ostrich racetrack.
"There!" he pointed, "the tunnel is under there."
"And how do we get down from the roof?"
"I'll jump down and catch you," he replied almost immediately.
"But the height, Dastan, you're still not well…"
"I'm fine," he snapped in defiance. He'd be damned if he was going to let himself be caught because of a stupid illness. Quickly, he made his way to the edge of the roof and glanced down. It was only two stories up, but yet it made his head spin. Choking down the feeling of nausea, he gradually lowered himself down from the roof backwards, so he was dangling by his hands. As expected the muscles in his arms burned in agony. Taking one last glance below him, he let go.
Instead of landing in his usual graceful manner, he hit the ground hard, and his legs buckled. With a groan, he tried getting to his feet. People rushing past didn't stop to help. It was every man, woman and child for theirselves in the descent of the attack.
Tamina repeated Dastan's movements so she too was hanging off the roof. He positioned himself underneath to catch her.
"Let go!" he shouted and she did. Her body slammed into his with more force than he had expected, but he managed to hold his ground, while preventing her from hurting herself. He took her hand.
"Now, run!"
They sped through the dusty streets, zigzagging through the panicking citizens who were running hither and thither in an escape attempt. Most of them seemed to be running in the opposite direction, suggesting that not very many people knew about the tunnel. Dastan's heart ached for them. He wanted nothing more than to stand in the middle of the street and tell them they were going the wrong way, that there was a way out, but he knew that there was no time. If he stopped to save others, they would likely be caught themselves. Shoving his conscience to one side, he pressed on.
They paused only for a moment, where Dastan armed himself with a scimitar from an abandoned blacksmiths along their path.
"Here," he said finally, as the approached the high stick fence of the Ostrich track. As they slipped in, a familiar voice rang out over the noise.
"Cut faster!"
He glanced around to see the Sheik Amar and Seso standing nervously by a pen of Ostriches while a servant tried to cut the ropes that held their pen shut with a very blunt dagger.
"It's alright my lovelies," he crooned anxiously, stroking one through the bars, "We'll have you out soon."
Suddenly, Seso pointed at Tamina and Dastan.
"Look!" he cried.
Amar snapped his head around.
"Persian!" he yelled.
Dastan stood frozen in his tracks, momentarily confused. Did the Sheik remember?
"Now don't you look at me like that," the Sheik scoffed, striding over with the threatening manservant right behind him, "I know exactly who you are, and you too princess. You thought you had me fooled, eh?"
Dastan opened his mouth to reply, but Amar just kept talking.
"This is your fault," he spat, "They're looking for you. I have a right mind just to hand you over to them."
"That won't solve anything," Dastan rushed, "They'll take us and carry on sacking. There's no way to stop them now."
"What makes you so sure?" quick as a flash he produced a dagger and held it point first under Dastan's chin.
"I think your Uncle will be very gratefulto have you back. They say the gods favour him so much, they brought him back from the dead."
"My Uncle is mad," Dastan spat.
"And he won't stop until every knee in Persia bows to his name," Tamina interjected. "We are on a mission to try and stop his…"
"Ha!" The Sheik laughed, "Would you get a load of these two. Nothing but lies. Round them up Seso, and we'll take them to the Persians."
"Sheik Amar listen to me," Dastan urged, "You have to trust us or one by one, every great nation in this world will fall to Nizam. He may have gods on his side, but they're not the sort that you or I pray to. Either you help us, or the fate of Persia hangs over your head."
Amar regarded him cautiously.
"Have we had the misfortune of meeting before, Persian?"
A small cheeky smile crept up into the corner of the Prince's mouth.
"If we had met before nobleSheik, then you would know for sure that my acquaintance is no misfortune."
This earned him a steely glare from both Seso and the Sheik.
"And you will be rewarded handsomely," Tamina pressed, "My city is a wealthy one, and your generosity will be repaid many times over."
At the mention of money the Sheiks eyes gleamed greedily, but he was still wary of their promises. After a moment of obvious mental deliberation, he let out a cry of frustration.
"I don't know why I trust you Persian," he growled through gritted teeth, "But you better not betray it, or so help me, handing you over to your Uncle will be a welcome relief from what I'll dream up to do with you."
With a relieved sigh, Dastan shot a look to Tamina who gave a reluctant smile in response. They were by no means out of trouble yet, but they'd been given a glimmer of hope in a seemingly impossible situation.
With a few extra men, a couple of horses, and even a few Ostriches they stole through the tunnel and out into the desert, leaving the little town in the valley of the slaves to the mercy of Nizam's army.
As Zolm opened his eyes to the twilight of the pre-dawn, he tried remembering the last time he'd slept in relative peace, and couldn't. It took him a moment or two to remember the most probably reason.
Nasreen slept peacefully beside him, her swarthy limbs entangled in the luxurious sheets of the royal bedchamber. As he observed her, he could see dark, hand shaped bruises beginning to form on her arms. Maybe there were some more elsewhere on her slim body, but he didn't care to look. Perhaps he had been a little over zealous. But on the other hand, she had made no obvious complaint at the time, so why should he be concerned?
He moved his eyes up to her face and was a little startled to meet her open amber eyes.
"You're awake."
He could think of nothing better to say at that point.
"We have a genius in our midst," she chuckled, in a voice that still croaked from sleep.
He ignored her comment and rolled onto his back. As he processed the motives and ultimately, consequencesof his actions the night before, he observed the ornately decorated canopy above the bed.
"Not very talkative in the morning, are we?" she teased.
Again, he deliberately ignored her, but as always, she was stubbornly determined to rile him.
"Or perhaps, you're still speechless from our adventures?"
"Hardly," he scoffed. It was only truth in part. There was an unmistakeable satisfaction that had settled inside him, like a meal after a fast. But to let her know as much would have been a form of suicide. She'd won so many of their little battles, he couldn't dare to concede another. He was fiercely prepared to guard the shred of dignity that she'd yet to take from him.
She pouted her lips in a look of mock hurt.
"I'm offended. Does this mean we're not going to lie here in each other's arms, watching the sun come up, whispering about how much we love each other?"
A wave of repulsion washed over him, and the very thought of it had his skin prickling with irritation.
"Spare me the sentiment," he grunted, flinging aside the sheets as he made movements to leave the bed.
She laughed, in her own special way where you couldn't quite tell whether she was being sarcastic or genuine.
"Don't let me worry you," Nasreen reassured, "Do you really thing I'd be here if I wanted that?"
"Isn't that what all of you womenwant?" he snorted in disgust.
She laughed again, and this time he was almost sure her amusement was sincere.
"But then you've wrongly made the assumption that I'm like all other women."
There was an extended moment of silence between them.
"Zolm…"
The way she said his name sent an uncontrollable shiver through his body, reigniting the fire he thought he'd doused the night before. It was intolerable. He hated the power she wielded over him, and now that he'd given in once, he'd begun a dangerous descent. And the worst thing of all was that he likedit.
He was about to relent when he heard footfalls of someone approaching. Snapping his head around to warn her to hide; he could see that she was one step ahead of him and was already disappearing out of sight behind the bed.
Quickly he donned some of the clothes which had been hastilycast off the night before. It was nothing more and a serving boy, to inform him that Nizam required his presence.
Required. Once upon a time Nizam would have travelled a day through the desert to request an audience with him. All the power had gone to his head, but justifiably so. The times where he could have eliminated the Persian noble with the strike of a sword or by the use of the serpent were gone. Now that he'd made a deal with devils, he was vulnerable only if he didn't feed on enough souls, or if he was hurt by that damn dagger everyone was making such a fuss over.
He put on the rest of his garments and lastly enticed the serpent up his sleeve.
"For once, do as you're told and stay here," he ordered Nasreen.
"I have no intentions of waiting around for any man, even those few I permit to share my bed," she replied.
"It's for your own good," he growled.
She simply shrugged her shoulders in that juvenile way that seemed to say; maybe I will, maybe I won't.
With an angry grunt, he left the room, slamming the door behind him.
His mood was not improved at all when he arrived to be told that Nizam would see him in 'due course'. Zolm waited on no man, but he wasn't so sure that Nizam was a man anymore. Out of the shadows, Horus, second in command of the Hassansins appeared before him.
"What news, brother?" Zolm asked, reading the tell-tale look of concern on his face.
"The soldiers sent to the valley of the slaves have returned with nothing more than stolen horses and a few captured women for their own amusement."
"Nothing of the Prince or Princess then?" Zolm stated with slight amusement. Why Nizam had bothered to send the soldiers in the first place still baffled him, when clearly the only people to succeed in a swift retrieval were Hassansins.
Horus shook his head.
"They turned the place upside down. The town's leader, a Sheik by the name of Amar and several of his close company were reported to have fled to the mountains. Perhaps they took Dastan and Tamina with them?"
"Perhaps," Zolm sighed.
"I assume you're here so that we can be given leave to take over the mission ourselves?"
"Rightly so," the Hassansin leader scoffed.
Just then, the door to Nizam's council chambers opened and two guards dragged out what they recognised to be the captain of the soldiers who had been sent to the Valley. He was conscious, but that was just about all you could say about him. The look behind his eyes was dead, and it was clear to see that his mind had gone also.
"The price of failure," Horus muttered under his breath.
Zolm made a movement to go into the room, but Horus grabbed his arm and bend to his ear.
"Take care," he whispered urgently, "Nizam is unpredictable, and dangerous, even by our standards. Don't antagonise him. The sooner we find Dastan and Tamina, the sooner we can put this cursed place behind us."
Slightly unsettled by his friend's words, Zolm gave him a nod of understanding and went into the room.
"You wanted to see me, my Lord," he addressed Nizam politely as he entered.
"There's no need for this to be an extensive exchange," the Persian stated offhandedly, "I assume you know why I've brought you here?"
"Your nephew and the princess have yet to be found."
"Indeed. I had the naivety to think that my soldiers were capable of carrying out the simple instructions, but of course they're fools every one of them," he sighed.
"My brothers and I shall leave immediately then," said Zolm.
"No," Nizam interrupted sharply, "You'll act alone. I need the others here for my personal protection."
"But sir, surely we have more chance of…"
"I have underestimated my nephew one too many times before Hassansin," he snapped, "And I'll be damned if I make the same mistake again. Kill them for all I care, I just want that dagger back. Do I make myself clear?"
Zolm was tempted to make a comment that Nizam should have sent him in the first place, but heeded Horus' words and held his tongue. With a bow of submissiveness Zolm turned to leave. However, as he walked towards the door, two guards entered before him, carrying a wriggling and protesting human mass between them.
Although he let no emotion cross his face, he felt as though an invisible fist had landed a blow to his gut. He had toldher to stay in his room.
"My lord," one of them spoke, "We found this wench trying to steal some of the gold platters used for banquets. Two other guards have already met their end by her hand before we could restrain her."
The notion that Nasreen had went down fighting was of little comfort to Zolm at the moment. He'd thought her too sensible to get caught, but clearly no one was infallible, not even her. He began to think fast. How to get her out of this one? He'd have to invent a story. Perhaps Nizam would believe that she was his paramour, and that he would take responsibility for her punishment? But even in his head, the reasoning seemed pathetic.
She shot him an expectant look, her piercing eyes demanding that he do something.
"A thief and a murderess, and it's still only morning. You have been busy," Nizam scoffed.
"If it had been stealing, then I would have taken only your hand. But the punishment for murder is death also."
With a flourish, he drew his finger across his throat.
"Beheading."
For a brief moment, Zolm felt a strange relief. They'd hold her in the cells before the execution. Surely there would be enough time for him to slip in and release her?
They had been right when they'd told him women were far more trouble than they were worth, and Nasreen was just that.
"Such a careless waste of life though," he mused, stepping towards her. Zolm bit back the urge to step forward himself and put himself between them. But he'd just end up giving the game away. To show her any obvious favouritism would only be her downfall. Nizam reached out to stroke her cheek, but she whipped her head around and tried to bite him.
"Go to hell," she yelled.
He laughed with a gleaming glint of greed in his eyes.
"Such spirit and fire...what youth...and such a pretty head, I'm almost reluctant to remove it from your shoulders. No, I have a much better use for you."
It happened without warning. Zolm had no time to react as with one swift movement Nizam grabbed her face in his hands. She opened her mouth and the most terrible scream erupted. Rooted to the spot by confusion and disbelief, Zolm recognised this moment. He'd seen this before in his visions. This was the moment when Nasreen died.