Hero at the Fall (Rebel of the Sands 3)

And then there was the note that sent my blood cold. A quickly dashed-off missive, dated the same day that the Rebellion was ambushed. It was an order to send soldiers after Shazad’s father, General Hamad. He had been stationed on our westernmost border, staving off invasion via our neighbouring country of Amonpour as this war raged on. With his daughter revealed as a traitor, he was to be executed for her crimes. Word had been sent before the city was locked down, a man’s life ended in a few scribbled lines, while we were trapped in the city with no way to warn him. Shazad would find a way to save her father if she was here. To warn him. But she wasn’t. I couldn’t get to either of them. And now her father was going to die. A man who had risked his life passing information to us. Who had helped soldiers who showed signs of turning against the Sultan find their way to us. Who had even helped some of his soldiers’ wives into the Hidden House when men in his command proved to be poor husbands. He had worked quietly against the Sultan while trying to keep his family safe, and now I was going to get them all killed.

‘I gather somewhere in all this chatter is the bad news that you haven’t been able to get Leyla to talk?’ I returned my attention to Hala as I unfolded myself from the windowsill. It was nearing sunset, and I’d been watching the people of Izman rush back and forth on the streets, completing their errands in a hurry before the curfew forced them back into their homes. At sunset, the Abdals would flood the streets to enforce the citywide curfew that was still in place.

Hala scraped her pale gold nails through her dark hair. ‘It’s a lot more difficult to trick someone when they know what you can do.’ The idea had been simple: Hala would slip into Leyla’s mind and fool her into telling us the information that we needed. Hala was good at that. She had deceived my aunt into thinking I was my mother when we needed her to cooperate with slicing the iron out of my skin. And today she had conned an entire city. But Leyla was not some unsuspecting bystander. She knew what a Demdji could do. ‘And I will remind you that I wouldn’t have to trick anyone if you’d brought back answers instead of more questions.’

Silence dropped like a stone. I knew what Ahmed would’ve done in the old days. Gather everyone to hear what we all reckoned we should do, listen to good counsel, figure out a plan. But nowadays this was everyone. Imin was dead. Ahmed, Shazad and Delila were gone. Rahim, our newest ally, was captured with them. And now even Sam was … missing. The twins were asleep somewhere. And all that left was me, Jin and Hala. Two tired Demdji and one reluctant prince: that was all we had left. An awfully small, sad collection compared to the lot of us that used to gather in Ahmed’s pavilion back in the oasis.

And then a voice boomed from outside, shattering the heavy silence.

‘Hear me now, my subjects.’

Sudden terror bloomed in my chest. I would know the Sultan’s voice from a single word. I would know it if I heard it in my ear in the middle of nowhere on the other side of the world. I knew that voice better than I knew even Jin’s. And right now there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that it was his voice coming from immediately below our window. He had found us.

We – I – had taken his daughter and I’d led him straight to us, and now we were done for. He would execute Jin on the stage, another rogue son to be rid of. And he would enslave us Demdji. And the rest of the Rebellion would die in some desert prison with no rescue ever coming for them.

For a second I was rooted. All the blood had rushed out of my body and I was just a shell of fear. Almost as if I was standing outside myself, I looked around the room, seeing equally frozen expressions on every other face.

Jin moved first, drawing his gun as he pressed himself into the space next to the window. I moved to follow him as the blood returned to my body, drawing my own weapon as I plastered myself to the wall, glancing outside. I prepared to see the Sultan standing below our window, shouting up at us. Like Bashir the Brave from the legends, calling up to Rahat the Beautiful when she was locked in the Djinni’s tower.

Instead, on the street below us was an Abdal in all its gleaming bronze glory, staring straight ahead with its sightless eyes. The Sultan’s mechanical soldiers, lit with Djinni fire.

‘I speak to you now not as your ruler but as a father.’ The Sultan’s voice was coming from the Abdal. The machine was speaking, although its metal lips never moved. ‘A father to you, my people, and to my innocent daughter, your princess Leyla. Who has been kidnapped from the very heart of the palace by dangerous radicals acting in the name of the dead traitor prince.’ He didn’t say Ahmed’s name, stripping him of all identity except that of traitor.

The Sultan’s voice was louder than any normal man’s ought to be. As I craned my neck to peer down the street I could see another Abdal on the corner, the same voice presumably speaking out of it. People still on the streets were pressed against the walls as if they could retreat into them, taking in every word that was being spoken …

This was not just happening here. My guess was that the Sultan had dispersed his mechanical soldiers across the city to stand in every neighbourhood and speak this same message. Our exalted ruler was talking to thousands of people in his city at once with one voice we all had to heed.

‘How is he doing that?’ I hissed under my breath. I wasn’t sure whether the Abdals could hear us or not.

Jin’s gaze was fixed on the street. He looked grim, the lattice window casting strange patterns on his face. He shook his head. hen there was the note that sent my blood cold. A quickly dashed-off missive, dated the same day that the Rebellion was ambushed. It was an order to send soldiers after Shazad’s father, General Hamad. He had been stationed on our westernmost border, staving off invasion via our neighbouring country of Amonpour as this war raged on. With his daughter revealed as a traitor, he was to be executed for her crimes. Word had been sent before the city was locked down, a man’s life ended in a few scribbled lines, while we were trapped in the city with no way to warn him. Shazad would find a way to save her father if she was here. To warn him. But she wasn’t. I couldn’t get to either of them. And now her father was going to die. A man who had risked his life passing information to us. Who had helped soldiers who showed signs of turning against the Sultan find their way to us. Who had even helped some of his soldiers’ wives into the Hidden House when men in his command proved to be poor husbands. He had worked quietly against the Sultan while trying to keep his family safe, and now I was going to get them all killed.

‘I gather somewhere in all this chatter is the bad news that you haven’t been able to get Leyla to talk?’ I returned my attention to Hala as I unfolded myself from the windowsill. It was nearing sunset, and I’d been watching the people of Izman rush back and forth on the streets, completing their errands in a hurry before the curfew forced them back into their homes. At sunset, the Abdals would flood the streets to enforce the citywide curfew that was still in place.

Hala scraped her pale gold nails through her dark hair. ‘It’s a lot more difficult to trick someone when they know what you can do.’ The idea had been simple: Hala would slip into Leyla’s mind and fool her into telling us the information that we needed. Hala was good at that. She had deceived my aunt into thinking I was my mother when we needed her to cooperate with slicing the iron out of my skin. And today she had conned an entire city. But Leyla was not some unsuspecting bystander. She knew what a Demdji could do. ‘And I will remind you that I wouldn’t have to trick anyone if you’d brought back answers instead of more questions.’

Silence dropped like a stone. I knew what Ahmed would’ve done in the old days. Gather everyone to hear what we all reckoned we should do, listen to good counsel, figure out a plan. But nowadays this was everyone. Imin was dead. Ahmed, Shazad and Delila were gone. Rahim, our newest ally, was captured with them. And now even Sam was … missing. The twins were asleep somewhere. And all that left was me, Jin and Hala. Two tired Demdji and one reluctant prince: that was all we had left. An awfully small, sad collection compared to the lot of us that used to gather in Ahmed’s pavilion back in the oasis.

And then a voice boomed from outside, shattering the heavy silence.

‘Hear me now, my subjects.’

Sudden terror bloomed in my chest. I would know the Sultan’s voice from a single word. I would know it if I heard it in my ear in the middle of nowhere on the other side of the world. I knew that voice better than I knew even Jin’s. And right now there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that it was his voice coming from immediately below our window. He had found us.

We – I – had taken his daughter and I’d led him straight to us, and now we were done for. He would execute Jin on the stage, another rogue son to be rid of. And he would enslave us Demdji. And the rest of the Rebellion would die in some desert prison with no rescue ever coming for them.

For a second I was rooted. All the blood had rushed out of my body and I was just a shell of fear. Almost as if I was standing outside myself, I looked around the room, seeing equally frozen expressions on every other face.

Jin moved first, drawing his gun as he pressed himself into the space next to the window. I moved to follow him as the blood returned to my body, drawing my own weapon as I plastered myself to the wall, glancing outside. I prepared to see the Sultan standing below our window, shouting up at us. Like Bashir the Brave from the legends, calling up to Rahat the Beautiful when she was locked in the Djinni’s tower.

Instead, on the street below us was an Abdal in all its gleaming bronze glory, staring straight ahead with its sightless eyes. The Sultan’s mechanical soldiers, lit with Djinni fire.

‘I speak to you now not as your ruler but as a father.’ The Sultan’s voice was coming from the Abdal. The machine was speaking, although its metal lips never moved. ‘A father to you, my people, and to my innocent daughter, your princess Leyla. Who has been kidnapped from the very heart of the palace by dangerous radicals acting in the name of the dead traitor prince.’ He didn’t say Ahmed’s name, stripping him of all identity except that of traitor.

The Sultan’s voice was louder than any normal man’s ought to be. As I craned my neck to peer down the street I could see another Abdal on the corner, the same voice presumably speaking out of it. People still on the streets were pressed against the walls as if they could retreat into them, taking in every word that was being spoken …

This was not just happening here. My guess was that the Sultan had dispersed his mechanical soldiers across the city to stand in every neighbourhood and speak this same message. Our exalted ruler was talking to thousands of people in his city at once with one voice we all had to heed.

‘How is he doing that?’ I hissed under my breath. I wasn’t sure whether the Abdals could hear us or not.

Jin’s gaze was fixed on the street. He looked grim, the lattice window casting strange patterns on his face. He shook his head.