Legends Never Die: Do or Die (ch. 171) (Patreon)

Khalid looked better in a dress than he expected. It had required him to shave his beard, something he did with the greatest of reluctance. With it, he was a man. Without it, he looked like a child. However, many sacrifices were necessary to rescue the Caliph and his family. His beard would grow back. Lives cut short would not. 

“You are aware of your role, yes?” Inara asked him, adjusting the veil over his face. 

“We are a part of the entertainment, arriving on invitation by Jafar for the nobility,” Khalid answered. It had been four days since he was kidnapped by Inara before joining forces with her small coalition of… loyalists was probably a strong term. By their own admittance, they cared little for Caliph Harun al-Rashid. They cared more about biting their thumb at Jafar and the nobility than they did about restoring him to power. In Inara's specific case, her motivations were more personal. 

She had not breathed a word of them to Khalid. She offered no indication of the truth or what her true ambitions were. All the same, they were revealed to Khalid. 

In simple terms? Inara wanted Hadi to become Caliph. And she wanted recognition for her part in making him Caliph. Not for her sake, or any lingering fondness she had for him, but for… her son. Everything she did was for his sake. There were few loves more pure than that of a mother's love for her child, and there were few examples better than Inara. 

“My men and I shall secure the Caliph. Meanwhile, your people will open the gates of Baghdad, allowing Hadi to take the city,” Khalid continued. Hadi had already been notified through the same tunnel they used to enter the city. More men were coming through it to help take the initial ring. It was redundancy, in case something went wrong. Or, as Hadi would say, when something went wrong. “We will hold off any attempts on the Caliph's life until we can be relieved." 

“Or you will all die,” Inara pointed out to him, smearing a cream on the little flesh that was visible. 

“Or that,” Khalid agreed. He had failed his mission, in a way. With enough time, Khalid was certain that he could get the Caliph out of the palace, and then the city, with enough time. Perhaps another week. Maybe as little as three more days. However, in the two weeks that had passed, simply getting into the palace took all of his effort. It was time they simply didn't have. 

Rumors persisted that a relief army was close since Khalid first arrived. Now those rumors had substance, because a relief army was indeed mere days away. The numbers varied wildly, but Hadi's scouts confirmed it was around forty thousand strong under the leadership of Yusuf and Ahmad. They were making all haste to Baghdad -- not so much as to save the palace, but to squeeze Hadi between their army and the walls. Jafar's militia was poorly trained, but sometimes a mass of bodies armed with spears was all you needed. 

“However, Hadi will succeed.” Of that, Khalid had the utmost confidence. 

“Even if he does, some of you will still die,” Inara pressed. Testing his resolve, just to see if he would fold or flinch. If he did, then she would pull out of the attempt. Four days was enough tine to get to know someone, but not enough time to secure their trust. Particularly if they didn't trust easily to begin with. 

For that matter, she wasn't wrong. Getting into the palace would be a task. Securing the Caliph before Jafar realized Hadi's intent… timing would be everything. And even with perfect timing and no complications, Khalid could not see all of them surviving. At least one would die. And he was prepared for it to be him. 

Inara saw what she wanted to see in his gaze. She took a step back, admiring him for a moment with a clinical eye. Then she gave a small nod. “You have good birthing hips,” she tacked on, just to see if he would grow flustered. 

“Thank you.” He replied instead, making her scowl ever so slightly. 

“Leave the talking to others,” Inara repeated. “The guards will let you by without close inspection, but your voice will give the act away. I can get you into the palace… but everything that comes after is your responsibility.” 

Khalid inclined his head to her, accepting that for the cold truth that it was. The time for words was at an end. With his disguise in place, he emerged from the back room of the brothel, joining the other disguised men and the women who would cover for them. 

He expected to feel more nervous when they were packed into a carriage. Something was set into motion that couldn't be stopped. Yet Khalid found himself looking through the small slit window that both let them to see outside and served as a vent for the overpowering scent of perfume. 

They had not been idle over the past four days. He borrowed upon Inara's connections, putting him in contact with nobility and people of import. Those who would be invited to one of Jafar's banquets. With threats, promises, and bribes, they secured their invitation by attaching themselves to a Musaaid al-Shaker. A minor noble, but a wealthy one. He had no loyalty to Jafar nor Harun, just to his own wealth and power. 

That was what made him trustworthy. Musaaid saw which way the wind was blowing. Hadi was outside of the walls, and there was no reason to think the relief army would fare any better than the last battles Hadi had against Yusuf and Ahmad. Adding them in taking Baghdad and securing the Caliph was a risk to be sure, but Hadi was the smart bet.

That was the motivation of many with whom Khalid came into contact. Few earnestly believed that Harun was indisposed, but they tolerated the fiction because it served them. Now it no longer did. Their greed spied an opportunity. By helping Hadi, they would be rewarded, even if they did suspect him of lying about his motivations. In their minds, it didn't matter. So long as Hadi was successful, then they would be rewarded. 

The checkpoint to the palace was ten times as well guarded as the outer ring of Baghdad. Khalid watched from afar as Musaaid spoke with the guards; the carriages were inspected. The first of the bribes came in handy as the men chosen to search the line of carriages were their men. Paid to turn a blind eye to anything amiss. Such as the number of people inside each carriage. 

A bearded face poked his head into their carriage, doing a quick count. His gaze met Khalid's for a long moment, recognizing him through the veil. For a moment, Khalid saw doubts swirl behind his eyes -- it was only natural, after all. Failure would have him executed. 

However, it was also too late for doubts, and he knew that. 

“Clear,” the guard said, closing the door and letting their carriage through. The wheels rocked ever so slightly as they reached the stone road of the palace. 

It lay in the heart of the city, surrounded by a vast garden. The road was made of cut stones, framed by carefully curated palm trees that offered shade. There was a veritable maze of hedges, wildflowers, and more. Much of the plant life was cultivated for aesthetics, but there were quite a few that had medicinal purposes. The palace was protected by another ring of water, forcing them to cross a small, guarded bridge before they reached it. 

It was a grand thing made of sandstone. Or the outer sheathing was. It was extravagantly carved and then inlaid with painted mosaics, adding depth to them. The shape was a touch simple, largely a square, but one with a grand hall pointed in each direction. The guards were numerous. They always were. However, they were relaxed. 

Such was the trouble with so many layers of security. They were convinced that those at the checkpoint had done their jobs; thus, they had little reason to give them any scrutiny when they emerged from the carriage en masse. As instructed, Khalid and his fellows fell into the background of the women, who formed almost a wall around them as they walked through a servants' entrance to the palace. After all, they were entertainment. They would join the feast at Jafar's when it came time for the nobles to be entertained. Not a moment sooner. 

The palace was familiar to Khalid, though it had been some time since his last visit. He learned the layout ahead of time and knew where the Caliph's quarters were. And while he did not feel fear, there was a growing sense of tension as they reached a point of critical juncture. 

In a crowd of twenty, when it suddenly became ten, that was something that would be noticed. However, in a crowd of thirty, should it suddenly become twenty, that was a touch less likely. But all it would take was one observant guard…

Yet, all the same, Khalid turned a corner and broke away from  the group being escorted to a waiting room where they would be unveiled. By all rights, there should have been an alarm sounding as he walked by a pair of guards. Only that alarm was stalled when he pressed a purse of gold into one of their hands as he slipped by, his men following in step. 

As they did, they shed their disguises to reveal what lay underneath them -- the attire belonging to the guards. They formed up, as if that was what they were, and began to march through the halls. Their bare faces would make them stand out, but given that all of them looked like children the size of men, Khalid hoped he could rely on an excuse of youth. 

Every step was meticulously planned out, down to the number he would have to take. Fifteen down one hall to take a right. Thirty down another to take a left. And so on until they would arrive at their destination. Every step made the growing sense of tension worse. A painful knot formed between his shoulder blades-

The sound of a bell ringing just about made Khalid jump out of his skin. His men were no better. “Is that us?” He asked with wide eyes, realizing they were still three halls down from where the Caliph was. 

Almost as if to answer, a guard rounded the corner and nearly tripped over his own two feet when he saw them. “It’s Hadi al-Ghaib! He has breached the city! He takes the outer ring!”

Too early. Or were they too late?

Khalid didn’t know, only that the time for subtlety was past them. With two long strides forward, he drew a dagger and slashed out the man’s throat with the same action. “We must hurry! Before they secure his rooms!” They were already racing down the hall before the first man even had the chance to die, blood spurting from his neck and between in fingers in a vain attempt to stem the bleeding. 

Their haste did not work against them. The palace was like a beehive after someone threw a stone at it. Everyone was rushing to get into position, following orders that were shouted down the halls. When they arrived outside of the ornate door of the Caliph’s quarters, the half dozen guards did not react to them with hostility. They looked at them with the assumption that they were reinforcements to ensure no one reached the Caliph. 

It was a notion they failed to realize was false until it was too late. 

Khalid had the advantage of numbers and surprise, but six men did not die quickly and quietly. The first was slain with another opened throat, and with the action, they cried out in alarm. His men fell upon them, restraining them while another opened their throat or stomach. They fought back, of course, swinging wildly at anyone who came close. 

The fight lasted a few seconds. A few seconds too long. Echoing down the halls, Khalid could hear others responding to the short-lived fight. He paid it no mind, or that of his knee dipping into a pool of blood as he retrieved a key hanging from one of the corpses’ waist. By the time Khalid slid the key into the lock, opening the door, the guards were responding. 

“For the Caliph!” Two of his men shouted, rushing down the hall to buy enough time for the rest of them to slip past the door. Khalid hardened his heart, knowing they did what was necessary, and closed the door behind them. As the key slid back into the lock, sliding in a bolt from the inside, Khalid still heard the sounds of fighting and death… and then the sudden painful silence that he understood too well. 

“Barricade the door,” he instructed his men before turning around. It was then that he saw those gathered against the far wall, a firepoker aimed in his direction in the steady hand of Caliph Harun al-Rashid. For a man supposedly on his death bed, he seemed quite healthy. And willing to fight with his mother behind him, carrying his child. The prince of the Caliphate. 

Khalid took two steps forward, getting out of his men’s way, before he dropped to a knee. “Forgive our hasty entry, your grace. We are here on behalf of Emir Hadi al-Ghaib.”

Betrayal could only come at the hands of those whom you trust. Those who you would never imagine would do such a thing to you. And betrayal leaves a scar. It sowed doubts amongst those who did not deserve distrust. 

Harun did not lower the firepoker, his gaze lingering on Khalid and his men who pushed the bed and the wardrobe in front of the door to act as a barricade. “Hadi sent you?” He tasted the words, not quite relieved to hear them. “You don't seem to be arranging our escape.” 

“Loyalists have opened the gates to Baghdad and through a smuggler's tunnel, we have agents inside of the city. We are to guard you to ensure Jafar does not… lash out now that he will lose his seat of power.” The suspicion in Harun's eyes did not dim at Khalid's words. He wanted to believe him, Khalid knew, but once burned, he was twice shy. 

“Lower the weapon, my son. We can trust them,” Al-Khayzuran, Harun's mother, uttered with a confidence that was more persuasive than Khalid could hope to be. It was only then that Harun lowered the firepoker, looking at it and the men with an expression that he knew how little good it would do. 

“And what of Jafar?” Harun questioned, adopting the tone of a Caliph. There was something underneath it, however. Something dark. “Yahya?” 

“Jafar will escape,” Al-Khayzuran answered with the same unflinching certainty, even as the sound of axes were taken to the doors. Luckily, the doors were quite thick, and the hinges for the door were embedded into stone. They had time. Khalid could only hope that they had enough time. “That creature is a snake. I would be surprised if he already isn't making his way out in one of our hidden tunnels. The moment he hears that you are inside the palace, he would take no chances.” 

“How disappointing,” Harun muttered before his gaze settled firmly on Khalid. “Rise, my friend. You have my thanks. Should we all survive, you will be rewarded for this. Of that, I swear,” Harun promised as Khalid rose. 

“Please, stay behind us, my Caliph,” Khalid requested, turning his back to the royal family to see the doors tremble with repeated thuds. They were hacking at the frame of the door, near the hinges, because they couldn't reach them. They were going to take off one of the doors entirely, assuming they already erected a barricade. Smart, but also time-consuming. 

Little by little, the door gave way. The wood splintered until Khalid could see the edge of the axe that cleaved it, with the wood cracking along a natural seam. The men on the other side of the door applied pressure, making the door creak like a branch pulled too far until it finally snapped. A sound that was almost drowned out by the warcries that followed. 

Khalid strode forward, driving his blade into the sudden emptiness that had been filled by men attempting to surge past the rough barrier. Some of his men held it in place while the others drove them back with swords and spears, all the while the guards pressed inward. It was not a battle. Not like any Khalid had ever known, at least. 

It was awkward. More than anything else, it was awkward. The guards tried to squeeze through the one door they had taken off, only to run face-first into a turned-over wardrobe and a feathered bed piled onto it. All of the fighting took place from the head up, men simply stabbing down over the barrier some of them couldn't even see over. And when it became clear they weren't going to get through the one door, they started hacking away at the other to widen their approach. 

Another guard had an unfortunate idea. A torch was pilfered from the wall and pressed to the bedding. The feathers and soft silks were ignited like a bonfire, filling the room with smoke and flames. The guards waited for just a breath, but even before the flames had burnt themselves out, they were pushing into the royal quarters. 

Then the battle turned messy. The guards only had to step over a dresser to get inside the room, and even if they weren't eager, they were pushed forward by those behind them. Khalid and his men met them with blades, blood spurting out and sizzling against the flames. 

It was then that time seemed to lose all meaning. It just became violence. Khalid lashed out, driving his blade into those that were bold and did his best to avoid being slain in return. Others weren't so lucky. Khalid became increasingly aware of his men as they fought. How one would drop because of an unlucky blow to the neck and how his last action was to throw himself onto the dresser so his corpse would add to the barrier. How another lost a hand, but fought on with the other until he was disemboweled. Even then, he made sure he didn't die alone. 

With every man they lost, the pressure grew immeasurably worse. Khalid felt the stings of his wounds where he was a touch too slow to dodge or block. He didn’t know how bad they were. There simply wasn’t enough time to check in the flurry of violence. He might be almost untouched, or he could be on death’s door for all he knew. 

All there was in his world at that moment was the doorway and the guards pushing their way inside. His voice felt rough from shouting, and it was only then that he realized he was. Blood flowed across the floor, making it treacherous, while the embers caught flame on the corpses that gathered, igniting them to create the awful stench of cooked meat and burnt hair. All the while, blood flowed between the stone slabs of the floor, spreading beyond the fight and towards the royal family. 

Khalid felt them losing. The pressure was persistent, but it grew infinitely worse when they took off the second door, leaving them to fight in the doorway in earnest. Half of their men were dead or dying, and he might be one of them. A painfully thin wall of flesh guarded the royal family, and Khalid was convinced the only reason why they weren’t overwhelmed was the guards before them were slipping on the gallons of blood already spilled. 

Then the pressure vanished almost without warning. 

The war cries that echoed out turned into shouts of surprise. Then fear. The pressure that threatened to overwhelm them at any moment melted away to reveal Hadi’s personal guard rushing to relieve them. 

Khalid would like to say he made a dignified showing to ensure the royal family was unharmed, but that pressure was the only thing that was keeping him up. The moment it was gone, he collapsed to the ground like a puppet without its strings.

Even as he fell, he didn’t know if he would awaken or not.