It was a bedraggled band of souls that trudged through the sands toward the Caliph of Khorasan’s encampment.
Three young women—all dressed in torn finery, two of them smelling of sewage—made their way before the guards tasked with keeping watch over the camp’s entrance at night. When a hulking warrior with skin of burnished copper came into view, the soldiers drew their swords. Two came to stand before him.
The smallest of the three girls spoke first.
“I’d like to speak to the caliph.” She tucked a poorly shorn wave of hair behind an ear, smudging even more dirt across her face in the process. At that, the leader of the night guard began laughing. “And I’d like a harem and a flagon of wine, while we’re at it.” The girl’s eyes flashed through a myriad of colors before settling on green. “Don’t be a fool.” “Don’t presume to lecture me, you filthy little—” The brute of a warrior moved to strike. But was stayed by the smallest girl before he could proceed. “Watch your words, soldier,” the plump girl with the disheveled crown of curls said in an imperious tone. “That’s the Calipha of Khorasan.” The soldier’s sense of humor began to fade. “And I’m the Shahrban of Rey.” “I’m afraid you’re not,” the imperious girl replied. “He’s older. And not nearly as stupid.” The other soldiers could not help but laugh at her rejoinder. “Enough!” The last girl—the most striking one—finally stepped forward. “My name is Yasmine el-Sharif, and I demand to speak with—” “And I demand a moment alone with you.” The soldier in charge grinned before reaching to pull her in for a kiss. Before the hulking warrior could stop her, the tiny girl with the badly shorn hair leapt onto him with the fury of a crazed monkey. She began pummeling him in the head and neck with both fists. His soldiers laughed uproariously. “It was just a kiss!” the soldier protested. When he failed to pull her off immediately, several other soldiers came to his aid. In a blur of movement, the barrel-chested man accompanying them disarmed the soldiers. He blew onto one of their swords, setting it aflame. Then he held the burning weapon before their leader’s face. “Wait . . .” One of the soldiers staggered back. Another tripped onto the sand in his haste to flee. “That—that’s the Rajput!” “Get the captain of the guard,” the wielder of fire said. “Now.”
