Legends Never Die: Making Friends (ch. 170) (Patreon)

Baghdad was the center of power for the Abbasid Caliphate, but it was also a new city. The founder of the dynasty founded it, but he would not live to see its competition. Neither would his heir, nor the heir that came after. It was Harun al-Rashid's father who would complete the city but even he barely got to enjoy the fruits of his labor before he perished from his wounds incurred by the Romans. 

It had been more than a decade since then, but for cities, that was no time at all. Barely a blink, Khalid reasoned. Like a good house, it took time for things to settle when the construction was done. And for a capital of a new dynasty leading the Caliphate? It was the people and their positions that groaned instead of nails and wood. 

“How are you, my friend?” Khalid approached with a smile. One of the guards that oversaw the checkpoint glanced up from their half lidded stare, inviting no conversation with the line of people attempting to pass through the gate. It was a well built gatehouse, built with the idea of making the enemy pay in blood if they took the outer ring. It was necessary, as the road beyond led straight to the palace. Just with a few more checkpoints. 

Then Shaakir el-Saab blinked. “Oh, Alim!” Shaakir offered an easy smile. “Need to go through today?” 

“Not today,” Khalid replied, returning the smile. “I was in the area and saw you looking quite bored.” That earned a laugh in response before Shaakir made a gesture and Khalid followed him.

“The Vizier is not a military man, and it shows,” Shaakir said, setting his spear against a wall and offering a stacked sack of sand for Khalid to sit on. “Since Hadi al-Ghayb has arrived, he wants us to be on high alert at all times. More men at the guardhouse than sense. Leaves men like me with nothing to do.” 

Khalid laughed, “I suppose too many hands can make a labor too light.” 

“Can't do anything but stand around,” Shaakir sighed. But then he shrugged, “But there are worse ways to be paid. What of you? Any luck there?” 

“Less than I would like,” Khalid lied. “Mostly deliveries. There are many idle hands in Baghdad with the siege. People that meant to leave are forced to stay, and many that were already inside have lost the ability or demand for their trade.” It was a side to a siege Khalid had never considered. 

Hadi spared no expense in his education. Khalid knew the broad strokes of siege quite well, the common strategies and the pitfalls to avoid. But no text about a siege spoke of how it affected the common people trapped within the walls. An oversight, in his opinion. If only because it would prevent others from attempting exactly what he was doing. 

Shaakir stroked his beard for a moment before glancing down at Khalid's hands. “Farmer?” He asked, and Khalid openly displayed the calluses. From learning spearwork and swordsmanship. Alongside calluses on his finger and thumb from a quill. 

They were the hands of someone who was not afraid of work. “And laborer. My father died when I was quite young, but Zafir, the man who raised me, taught me my sums and letters. Though I would hardly call myself a scholar,” he added with a laugh. 

Shaakir joined him, “If you need work, I can see about getting you a pass to speak to the commander.” A commander that resided in the gatehouse on the second ring of the city. 

Khalid adopted a surprised expression, “Truly?” 

“Of course! If I'm going to be paid to stand and do nothing, then I might as well do it with good company!” Shaakir replied, and Khalid's smile was not fake. But it would be a lie to call it entirely genuine. 

There was a reason why he did not like using his gift this way. Shaakir was a good man. Fair. Honest. Not perfect, but he would make a genuine effort for those he cared for. He possessed no inherent loyalty to Jafar, but he was very concerned about Hadi. Enough so that there was no point in trying to convince him to work on his behalf. 

It was no coincidence Khalid chose him to approach over the three days they had been inside of Baghdad. He had delved deeper into people's histories than he ever had before, the events of their lives laid out before him like a book. Every triumph, every defeat, every argument with their parents, spouse, sibling or child. Every heartfelt opinion, every lie they felt guilt for, and every honest and dishonest action they had taken. All of it unraveled for Khalid, revealing every step of their life from birth to their present circumstances. 

It felt entirely dishonest when he approached Shaakir. A friendship struck by already knowing what he enjoyed, what he enjoyed speaking about, the dislikes that he spoke of openly and to no one else. Worse still, Khalid approached him with a singular intent.

“I'll get you your pass later today. Come tomorrow, you'll be standing guard with me!” Shaakir said with a cheer, and they wasted the afternoon away. Khalid could only hope that the betrayal he would feel after would not wound the man too deeply. 

True to his word, on the morning of the next day, Shaakir presented him with a pass etched into parchment and marked with a seal. Shaakir offered a wave of encouragement once Khalid was allowed to pass beyond the checkpoint. Khalid returned the wave, but the smile slipped from his face once he was beyond the checkpoint. 

The second ring of Baghdad was nicer than the outer ring. While it was not an outright rule, those with wealth congregated inside the second ring. It was where nobility kept their estates. Where wealthy merchants or land owners would open trade halls or offices. It was not as full as the outer layer, yet there were still many walking the streets, allowing him to get lost in the crowd. 

None would come looking for him, Khalid knew. Despite all the security Jafar established to maintain his grip on the city, his chosen agents were ill-trained. Little more than what Shaakir thought Khalid was -- a random man off the street with a strong arm and back. 

The checkpoints were meant to control who got between checkpoints. The patrols would shift those who seemed suspicious- in theory, at least. Those at the checkpoints at least needed to pretend to be alert. Those on the roads gathered in groups, playing dice or drinking. When they did pull someone to the side… well, it was usually because they were suspicious of how weighty their coinpurse was rather than being an agent of Hadi. 

None paid Khalid any particular mind. He was dressed well enough that he blended in amongst the richer inhabitants of the city, but not so much that he could be mistaken for nobility. They would look upon him and see a merchant stuck in the city. Precisely because that’s exactly who he got the clothing from. 

There were, of course, some roads that were more regularly patrolled. Those that took their duty seriously. They accosted those walking by, convinced that they were a spy. Admittedly, they were few in number, but they were there. 

Khalid avoided them. Identifying those who were greedy and loyal from those who simply didn't care. Taking too great an effort to avoid every guard would have been suspicious, so Khalid ventured close to those who would not give him a second glance and far from those who would. It meant his journey was uneventful when he arrived before a building, one heavy with the scent of perfume, incense, sweat, and alcohol. 

The reason for it was revealed when he stepped inside. It was a brothel. A high class one, by appearances. There was a mingling area with many curtains pulled up for privacy, but there were others who drank and flirted in the open. 

“Alim!” Naadir greeted him with evident relief, one of the ten that Khalid arrived with. “We were just discussing you.” 

Khalid approached, finding his fellows gathered in a private room. But they were not alone. Women were inside of the room, as he expected. A quick glance at all of them told the story that he also expected -- they cared little for any of them, only that they paid well for their time. 

“Good things, I hope?” Khalid replied, taking a seat and nodding his thanks when a cup was presented to him. It was wine, unfortunately. Even setting aside Allah frowned on those who drank, Khalid simply did not care for the taste. 

“We were worried that you were the one who wouldn't make it through the checkpoint,” Naadir replied with some amusement. He wore a drunken smile, but his eyes were sharp. His words careful. 

Khalid was the last to arrive because he facilitated the others passage first through bribes, favors, and blackmail. Simply to ensure that if they were discovered, the thread connecting them all was thin. “It took some time, but I could hardly miss this gathering, my friends,” Kahlid replied with a toast to them. As if they were only friends reunited by happenstance. 

The first checkpoint, of course, was the easiest one. Security would only increase once the closer they got to the palace, with the palace itself… 

Khalid brought his wine to his lips and tried not to grimace at the taste. His gaze went to the patrons that he could see, skimming what Allah whispered to him in search of a particular kind of person. After all, during a siege, there was nothing but idle entertainment. Food was not yet scarce, nor water. Disease had not spread, and Hadi did not bombard the walls. The harsh realities of a siege had not yet set in for people, leaving many to do exactly as Khalid and his men were seen to be doing. 

They went to brothels or other such pleasure houses, where they drank and gambled and made merry. Nobles who were trapped inside the city, or wealthy merchants, or guardsmen who found their coin purses heavy after alleviating others of their wealth. It was a natural congregation point for such men of influence. Men who might be amenable to their cause, be it by favor, bribe, threats, or a common cause. 

Yet, it was not in the men who caught his attention. 

[Sabreen al-Mansouri. 

Age: 20

History: Sabreen was sold to a brothel at a young age after being orphaned. There, she was raised by the Madam and owner of the brothel, and freed from her enslavement. She remains out of loyalty and enjoyment of her work.

She is currently embroiled in a conspiracy to open the gates to Hadi al-Ghayb at the behest of the Madam.]

It would seem keen minds thought alike. The young woman caught his gaze, offering a practiced smile in response. With effortless grace, she crossed the room and draped herself over the cushions. She seemed moderately surprised when his gaze did not waver. “Is the wine not to your liking?” She questioned, leaning close. “Most guzzle it like it shall be their last cup.” 

“It may not be, but it will not be long before the wine runs dry,” Khalid remarked. “The only way to forestall that is a swift end to the siege.” 

Sabreen disguised her reaction well, but her gaze sharpened just a touch. “Quite true, but not for all. The nobles in their palaces… rivers of wine would still flow. I doubt they shall share a drop.” 

“Their greed knows no bounds,” Khalid returned. 

Her smile grew as sharp as her gaze, “How honest~! I wonder whose greed you speak of?” She asked in a teasing tone, and in response, Khalid raised his goblet. 

“I am afraid that you will need a few more of these to get me to answer that question.” To her credit, she did try. He drank his wine slowly, and always chased the taste away with something to absorb the alcohol in his stomach. To his cup, his companions drank two or three. 

Seeing them as more suitable targets, Sabreen asked seemingly innocent questions. She was careful about it, however, by sprinkling them between idle chatter and flirting. In truth, without Allah's gift, Khalid strongly doubted he would have noticed what she was doing. 

Khalid did not press during that meeting. Those participating in a conspiracy were notoriously skittish. If he pressed, they would sense a trap, even if there wasn't one. 

Instead, in the four days that followed, Khalid allowed himself to be observed. They watched on from afar, following in his shadow, sometimes with familiar faces and others that were not. They watched him do the exact same thing that they were. He approached guardsmen and merchants alike to build a web work that could get him into the palace. 

A task that was most difficult. The only way to enter the palace was by invitation by Jafar, which he did so with semi frequency. He had to. Hadi's rapid series of victories had completely shattered the confidence the traitors had in the coup. They named Hadi the usurper and did so with the expectation of two outcomes. First, that they would have to invade his domain. 

The second, in their treacherous mind, was more likely: Hadi would simply look at the Caliphate arranged against him, look to Charlemagne, who still sought to control all of Hispania, and simply decide that it wasn’t worth the effort. His domain was vast, it was on the edge of the Caliphate. Why be an Emir when he could become a Caliph? So, they mustered their armies in a show of force, expecting that they would most likely be using them on their fellow conspirators. 

Instead, Hadi arrived in the Arabian Peninsula well beyond their earliest expectations, soundly trounced them, and now he besieged the capital. 

The nobles who supported Jafar, or the coup in general, needed assurances. They needed distractions. 

It was a window of opportunity that Khalid intended to take, but to do so, he needed to grease a number of palms. He needed to meet the right people so he could meet others who could put him and his team in position. It was possible. Even likely. However, after a week had already passed, Khalid couldn't claim he wasn't feeling the pressure. 

Which made it a relief when he was eventually confronted. 

Khalid saw the ambush coming a day in advance. His tail shifted from watching him to watching where he was going, placing men where his routes favored. They were looking for an opportunity to grab him rather than assassinate. Somewhere private and not far from where they could conduct their interrogation. And because he saw the ambush coming, he could control where it took place along with a few countermeasures in case they couldn't come to an agreement. 

The two men were waiting for him just out of sight in the alley between buildings. With a practiced smoothness, Khalid found his arms pinned to his sides and gag shoved into his mouth. Just before the blindfold followed, he heard a fierce whisper in his ear alongside a sharp blade pressed to his neck. “Don't resist and you will not be harmed.” What would happen if he did was evident enough. 

Khalid was carried away with a guiding hand on his shoulder, or physically lifted with a pair under his. They didn't take him far. As he expected, they dragged him into a cellar that was exposed to the alley. Within two minutes, Khalid found himself forced onto a small stool, his hands bound before the blindfold was ripped off. 

There was a woman who stood before him first and foremost. Her face was uncovered, unashamed of a jagged burn scar that crossed one eye. She was flanked by two men. Only one of them had aided in his capture. 

[Inara al-Badour

Age: 38

History: Sold to a brothel as a child by her birth parents, she was raised to be a prostitute with the hopes of becoming a concubine. Hopes that failed to manifest when she found herself pregnant-] 

“You,” Inara began, her tone clipped as every thought Khalid came to an abrupt halt, “are remarkably composed for a man who has been kidnapped from the streets with no warning. No promise of survival.” 

It took a moment for Khalid to reply, struck genuinely speechless. Circumstances forced him to find his voice. “I… do not believe that I am in any danger. If you were with Jafar, then I would already be dead or in chains.” He struggled to regain his footing, or recall his script for how the encounter was to go. 

“Perhaps,” Inara replied, conceding that point. “But that does not mean you are amongst allies.” 

“Then allow me to make my allegiance clear -- I am Khalid, in service to Emir Hadi al-Ghayb and tasked with infiltrating the royal palace to rescue Caliph Harun al-Rashid, his kin, and harem. All in the name of protecting them from the usurpers Jafar and his conspirators." 

That made the man next to Inara waver. He was of a similar age to Khalid, if a year or two younger. His face… he favored his mother, that much Khalid saw. He didn't even need his gift to know that much. However, he also favored his father. Particularly in the eyes, which were filled with disguised suspicion. 

“Rescue?” He questioned and… he even sounded like his father. “Hadi al-Ghayb is not attempting to overthrow the Caliphate?” He sounded genuinely surprised by the news. 

Khalid looked to him, then to Inara, who watched him with a lone eye. He chewed on his response before speaking carefully, “Hadi al-Ghayb wept when he was made an Emir. I believe if he would become Caliph, he would never stop.” 

There was a loud silence following his words and something softened in Inara's eye. “That does sound more like the Hadi I knew,” she confessed, thinking that Khalid couldn't know the context behind the admission. “But that was some time ago.” 

“Yet,” Khalid spoke slowly, “You still labor in his service. Aiding him to take Baghdad?” As he spoke, his gaze flickered to the man by her side before darting back to her. Inara's gaze narrowed. He could see her debating on whether she should answer or not. 

“Our motives are our own,” Inara said, deciding against elaboration. A trust he had not yet earned. “But it would seem that we have a mutual goal. And enemies.” She made a gesture and the knot around Khalid's wrists was undone. “However, rescuing the Caliph… that will be a task. Getting into the palace shall be difficult. Getting the Caliph and so many other valuable hostages? That will require an act of divine will.” 

Khalid stood up slowly, “I am aware. I don't suppose you would have a plan of your own I could borrow?” He asked with a thin smile. 

Inara looked at him for a moment before she tilted her head ever so slightly. She had a plan, but Khalid suspected… 

“How would you feel about dressing as a woman?”