Book II of III: The Reign of the Sultan

By J. Eric Booker

Despite the recent overthrowing of the tyrannical sultan, the reign of Sultan Baltor Elysian may soon be over. After all, Baltor has also inherited throngs of powerful enemies, both foreign and domestic, who wish to conquer-and-command the tattered Sharia Empire.

The first-of-many imposing threats is the massive army that has been traveling, by land and sea, for the Empire’s Capital City called Pavelus—-now only a handful of weeks away from their destination. This bloodthirsty army outnumbers Baltor’s forces three-to-one, holding more than one hundred and twenty thousand elite soldiers. They are led by none other than the younger brother of the previous sultan, who wants his property back no matter the costs—Emperor-Sedious Vaspan the Terrible.

If Baltor can strategically unite-and-train his horribly outnumbered people, and eliminate every last enemy—including those chaotic-evil denizens who can magically teleport from other worlds or dimensions like HELL—does he stand a chance in hell at keeping his beloved Empire! Read this action-packed book to find out these answers, as well much, much more...

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Eric Booker
• Release date: Feb 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311651822

J. Eric Booker

Born in the middle of a vast desert on a military base in California, Author J. Eric Booker began his life with a fiery passion for books, even before he could read! He loved it when his mother read to him. That passion never stopped throughout his youth, nor his adulthood. He has read all kinds of books, his favorite authors being Stephen King, Frank Peretti, Anne Rice, James Patterson, Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman, J.R.R. Tolkien, William Shakespeare, Kristine Cayne, and many, many more. These great authors not only inspired him, yet a couple of them (Stephen King and Tracy Hickman) taught him through lessons and workshops how to become the creative author he is. He began writing in January of 2000, and so far, he has 4 published, as well 2 more full-fledged stories that are nearly ready to become books. The final story in his Epic Fantasy Trilogy is now for sale!

Book preview

Book II of III: The Elysian Dynasty

THE REIGN OF THE SULTAN

J. Eric Booker

Smashwords Edition

Copyright J. Eric Booker, 2008.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

B.E. Books

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper.

BOOK II OF III: The Elysian Dynasty:

The Reign of the Sultan

Publisher's Note: 1) This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or, are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. 2) The numbered-translations to the foreign language used in this book can be found after the ending.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

Booker, J. Eric, The Reign of the Sultan

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Edited by Em Petrova—Romance Author

www.empetrova.com

Cover Art piece designed by Vuk Kostic

DEDICATION

I would like to dedicate this book to my Grandma Inge Burns—

she has always been one of my greatest supporters and fans.

Love ya, Grams!

"Always bear in mind that your own

resolution to succeed is more

important than any other."

- Abraham Lincoln

EXCERPTED FROM BOOK I:

The Swords of the Sultan

Good evening, my Sultan!

Humonus, when we are alone, please just call me Baltor.

As you command, Baltor, Humonus replied at a normal volume.

Baltor cocked his head toward the balcony, and said, I must confess that I’m a bit nervous, my friend.

Humonus declared, We all get nervous, Baltor. Use those nerves and make them steel—that is what shall make you truly powerful! Show Pavelus you are her Emperor, and Pavelus will be yours! Show the world you are her Sultan, and the world will become your Empire!

Baltor was surprised for but a moment as Brishava seemingly came out from nowhere and said, Ruling-General Humonus is both correct and wise. So, my Husband and Sultan, are you ready to meet your subjects?

He happily noticed Brishava had not changed her appearance one iota, since he last saw her. She still wore that beautiful green silky dress, filled of course with actual diamonds and emeralds that ran along dozens of vertical seams on her bodice and arms. Her hair was tightly pulled up into a bun, which then gently splashed and curled its way halfway down her back—can’t forget to mention the tiny platinum crown, stuffed with diamonds and emeralds.

The one thing that really grabbed his attention was her unbelievably adorable face—light-green eye-shadow around her doe-brown eyes, and glossy-red lipstick on her thick, luscious lips. In Baltor’s opinion, she looked like a beautiful porcelain doll.

After giving him the sweetest smile, Brishava asked her earlier question, Are you ready to meet your subjects, my gorgeous Sultan?

Baltor breathed out a chuckle, stood to his feet, cleared his throat, returned the smile, and then said, Yes, I am, my Sultaness.

She turned to the guards stationed at the doors, commanding, Allow Ruksha to enter, so that he can make the royal announcement.

Without word, each guard opened his respective door.

A man—who appeared to be in his late fifties and regally dressed—entered the room. He bowed upon hands and knees.

Brishava commanded, Ruksha, you may rise and call me out.

Ruksha slowly rose to his feet, as his knees were bad, yet declared with enthusiasm to his voice, Yes, my Sultaness! As soon as he had stepped out onto the balcony, dozens of trumpeters began to play the royal anthem, quieting the crowds.

Once the tune had ended, Ruksha proclaimed with pride, Citizens of Pavelus…. It is my privilege and honor to introduce to you the firstborn daughter and princess of Sultan Brishavus Helenus, who sadly passed away last night. Please welcome our new Sultaness of the Sharia Empire—her married name is Sultaness Brishava Elysian!

The crowds instantly took to their Sultaness as she stepped out onto the balcony, for a myriad of cheering and applause erupted; she waved her hands out joyously to the people.

Once the crowd had settled down, several minutes later, she proclaimed, First of all my beloved citizens, you should know that the time of my father’s cruel and unjust reign is over!

Yet again, the crowds broke out into cheering and applause.

Once settled, many minutes later, she proudly introduced, And now, it is my honor to introduce my husband, the new Sultan of the Sharia Empire—his name is Baltor Elysian!

This time, silence reigned in the city except for the chirping of crickets, for the citizens instantly became fearful that their new sultan might ultimately turn out to be a tyrant like all the other rulers for the last five centuries.

Baltor cocked his head over to look into the mirror one last time. Not only did he see his present and his past, yet he also saw his future—a future cast in the present. He now knew what he needed to be—his nerves became as steely as the swords on his back—his eyes darted forward—his feet walked onto the balcony.

As soon as he stood to Brishava’s right, he stopped walking. In that same moment, his mind mysteriously tabulated to him that all of the nobles and citizens of Pavelus had attended, eighty-two thousand, six hundred and fifty-two, as did forty thousand, two hundred and fifty-six soldiers or sailors, even though only thirty thousand people could fit inside the palace walls. Most people stood outside the palace gates and all around the surrounding streets for about two miles every direction.

With a lightning-quick flick of Baltor’s wrists, his swords crossed each other above his head and toward the heavens, as he proudly proclaimed, I have been officially crowned your Sultan, though not too long ago, I was once a peasant.

Baltor took a deep breath through his nose, before adding, Please listen to my words of warning, or of wisdom, your choice. As I speak, there are more than 120,000 enemy soldiers making their way toward Pavelus—by land and by sea—led none other than by Emperor-Sedious Vaspan. They will plunder us of all our riches until bone dry, and they will make all our women and children their slaves—the men will be executed…

He took another deep breath, before saying, "Unfortunately with my forces alone, we are outnumbered three to one—so the time’s come for me to ask for volunteers. You will be paid just the same as my regular foot soldiers—you will be trained by the best of the best, I swear to that on my honor!

Those who can’t fight—we shall provide you with safe haven within Pavelus’s strong defenses, or you may attempt an escape on your own, by land or by sea, if you so wish.

A few moments later, he sheathed his swords in one quick motion, thrust his open-palmed hands out to the crowds, and suggested with fervency, "But consider this option for a minute…declare me your Sultan and fight with me. And I will lead you all toward successes that are beyond imagination. Believe me, it is my intention to pave the entire streets of Pavelus with gold, even if it means that the walls of this palace be used to build them…

"So who amongst you shall hail me…your Sultan?!"

The Reign of the Sultan

CHAPTER I

1,167 miles to the southeast of Pavelus, where

stood the feuding Vaspan Empire’s capital

city of Mauritia—3 weeks and 1 night earlier…

At the core of this inland metropolis, whose fortified city walls possessed the shape of a perfect circle—eight miles in diameter—there dwelt a magnificent, massive, and majestic palace.

Master-craftsmen from all over the world had started constructing this building only twenty years prior, which project took them ten years to complete with the help of six thousand laborers.

The exterior walls consisted of grey, blue, and black marble slabs that perfectly resembled giant puzzle pieces all seamed together by gold inlay. Furthermore, planted onto the top of the six-story tall roof were seven spiraling minarets that reached for the heavens. While the bases of these minarets happened to be bigger than a house—each the same size—the pointy tip of the center minaret stood twice as tall as the other minarets at twenty stories.

Located on the top floor inside the center minaret, ten floors up, there dwelt a just-as-magnificent bedroom with an incredible view of the outside world on the balcony. Besides the exquisite furniture that occupied this spacious room, there was even a decent-sized swimming pool in the middle. Lying in the emperor-sized bed in the corner slept a particular man, who had just begun to dream.

Only a few seconds after this very dream had begun, it obviously began to bother him, as he not only tossed and turned in bed, yet breathed, moaned, and sweated quite profusely. By the dream’s climactic end—not even two minutes later—this man’s physical body had jerked into an upright sitting position, involuntarily, seconds before his conscious mind returned.

Still sitting alone in the dark room, he began the process of breathing deeply, in order to regain a control over his ragged breath. Once he had finally regained that control, perhaps half a dozen breaths later, he flung off the silky sheets that were still clinging to his sweat-drenched body.

Without any further haste, he yelled aloud into the darkness, Guard….bring me Ruling-General Thorn immediately!

From on the other side of the closed doors leading into his bedroom, he heard a guard’s muffled voice reply, Sir, the Ruling-General should be here in about forty-five minutes or so, as it is nearly five o’clock—the time for your majesty to wake up anyway, Emperor-Sedious Vaspan.

I know my own schedule, Vaspan continued to yell. Go find him and bring him here—it is imperative I speak with him as soon as possible!

Yes, my Emperor. Is everything okay?

Yes, I’m fine…

The guard, not being convinced, opened one of the doors until the light from the well-lit hallway shed directly onto his ruler.

In turn, this light revealed that Vaspan possessed a kingly look—penetrating sea-blue eyes, prominent facial features (nose, cheeks and jawline), thick, black, bushy eyebrows, and a long, pointy, braided beard. As for the thick and braided hair on the top of his sweaty head, it all splashed halfway down his back in thick patches of black with silver intermixed.

His just-as-kingly sleeping attire consisted of a silky pair of vertical-striped white and gold pajamas that clearly revealed his very muscular physique, thanks to the fact it was also drenched with sweat.

Even though the guard saw that Vaspan was only now starting to look angry, he couldn’t help but notice the troubled look and all the sweat, and so he asked with great concern, Are you sure everything’s all right, Sire?

Vaspan howled like a banshee, Yes I am okay, you blooming idiot! If I needed any other help besides retrieving your Ruling-General, I would have asked for it—dismissed!

Yes, my Emperor-Sedious, the guard gulped nervously, just before he closed the door and hurried off at top speed to carry out the order.

Once again sitting alone in the darkness, Vaspan pulled over several very thick and plush pillows, just before gently laying his back down upon them.

As soon as his body came to rest halfway between sitting and lying, he propped his hands behind the back of his head for support, sunk even deeper into the pillows, and sighed.

A few moments later, he began to meditate heavily over his fifty-two years of life. A life that consisted of several hard-won wars, quite a few successful land-expansion campaigns, and sixteen hardcore battles that he actually fought using his sword.

Really, it was because of Vaspan and all his valiant efforts, that his own empire was now one-half the size of the Kingdom of Thorium and one-quarter the size of the Sharia Empire. Not surprising to anyone, both neighboring nations were bitter enemies with the Vaspan Empire, because he had taken quite a bit of their lands.

The two empires, once upon a time, were originally one big happy family! After all, Vaspan’s original birth-name and title was Prince Vaspan Helenus, and he was the younger of two brothers with no sisters, and for ninety-nine percent of his life, with no mother. His older brother, by twelve years, was Prince Brishavus Helenus.

Their father was the previous Sultan of the Sharia Empire—Brishavo Helenus the Eleventh. He was forty years old when Vaspan was born.

Of course, Vaspan did have a mother named Vaspa, but the Sultaness had tragically died the very night of his birth from complications during childbirth—sadly she had only reached the young age of thirty-two…and rare were the times that her name, persona, or history spoken of by Brishavo or Brishavus.

Things grew worse for Vaspan because he never knew his mother. Further, both his father and-or brother would grow angry and storm off whenever he would ask any questions at all about her, especially during his youth. Their bottled-up rage caused him to believe over the years that they secretly blamed, resented, and even hated him because of Vaspa’s death.

A few years after her death, Brishavo began building a harem on the top floor of the palace, and selected the most beautiful women throughout the world to be his harem girls. Inevitably, he and his concubines produced dozens of children, in which the kids alone were B-grade royalty. Perhaps it was because of this harem that he never again married, or perhaps there just was not any other woman who could replace his first bride—only he knew for sure.

During Brishavo’s early years as the reigning Sultan, forty years in total, he had created from scratch a second seaport city called Lasparus, utilizing tens of thousands of skilled laborers. During his later years, he easily conquered the small, inland village of Mauritia and transformed it into a thriving trade city.

Combined with his beloved Capitol of Pavelus, these three cities not controlled the entire western borders of the Sharia Desert, yet also spanned across thousands of miles along the Sea of Albusina. Due to their centralized locations with more than a dozen major seaports, this made the entire Sharia Empire incredibly wealthy, successful, and powerful.

For most of Brishavo’s life, he looked remarkably young, handsome, and strong, as his aging process was more like a fine wine. He had always been healthy and physically powerful, but, not surprisingly, semi-tyrannical to his citizens in his high taxes, and of course the severe penalties for evading those taxes, or for trying to start rebellions.

However, only a month after his sixtieth birthday, the physicians diagnosed him with cancer. Slowly yet steadily—over the course of the next eight years—he rotted away, which they could not repair even with the best of medicines, nor could the clerics chant or pray away. He spent his final three years of life completely trapped in his deathbed, too weak to move.

Still, during this bedridden timeframe, the Sultan had wit enough to order the construction of the first layer of stonewall-fortifications to surround most of the seaport of Lasparus. Unfortunately, his crazed tyranny grew far worse as he began killing every single cleric in the Sharia Empire (which there were originally a little more than a thousand priests from about a dozen different religions), destroyed all their temples, tomes, and artifacts within all three cities, and permanently abolished all religions.

All the while, the two brothers were forced to watch their father transform from a muscular warrior into a skeleton with sunken eyeballs, slightly resembling an unwrapped mummy. In this man’s final week of life, he had gone completely insane, babbling incoherently to himself the entire time he was conscious, and dying only two weeks and three days before Vaspan’s twenty-second birthday.

Three days after their father’s death and funeral, Brishavus became officially inaugurated and crowned as Sultan Brishavus Helenus the Twelfth. After all, he was the next in line to rule.

Exactly two weeks later, upon the day of his birthday, Vaspan finally mustered enough courage to ask Brishavus if they could both rule the Sharia Empire equally; after all, it would probably be many decades before old age and death would finally take his thirty-four-year-old brother.

Without hesitation, Brishavus snarled out something to the effect of, Only after my own natural death will you be given the opportunity to rule the Sharia Empire, my little brother…but if I die by any other means, I promise you will never get that chance!

Even though Vaspan grew quite frustrated and angry at this response, he ever-so-barely managed to keep his poker face, as he had long ago figured, and ever-so-secretly planned, that this would be his older brother’s answer.

So, for an additional two months, Vaspan waited with patience—after all, it was no secret that Brishavus would be sailing for Lasparus with half of his naval fleet for a month, consisting of seven hundred ships from sleuths, to transport ships, to frigates and galleons. Twenty thousand sailors would be navigating these ships, and forty thousand soldiers would be coming along for the ride.

The brand-new Sultan’s first agenda was to inspect the second layer of stonewall-fortifications that six thousand stonemasons had just finished installing in Lasparus. At the same time he would take what he called his well-deserved vacation.

Once that month was over, his next agenda was to leave a quarter of the fleet and half of the soldiers behind in Lasparus, take half of the stonemasons and sail back to Pavelus for just a week, in order to ensure that his younger brother hadn’t botched things up.

Once that week was over, his final agenda was to sail south to Mauritia—along with his sailors, soldiers, and stonemasons—in order to begin building this city her own set of stone fortifications. He figured it would take a year to build city walls that were fifty feet tall and seventy feet thick.

Only three days after the Sultan had left for Lasparus, Vaspan stole one-third of the entire forces still stationed in Pavelus—troops that had been secretly loyal to him for many years.

He had—since his father had first become sick—recruited the officers, who in turn recruited the underlings, by his very persuasive words with promises of fortune and glory, which until this moment in time he kept top-secret.

The very few that said no to Vaspan’s plan were killed under mysterious circumstances, yet one who surprisingly said yes was the Sultan’s number two general, Commanding-General Flak.

After all, most people—including this senior officer who had honorably served the empire for twenty-five years—did not like the brand-new Sultan, as he had been a slave-driving bully since boyhood to just about everyone, except his own father. So it wasn’t all that surprising when Brishavus delivered the order that all of the troops (enlisted and officers) would indeed be assisting the stonemasons in Mauritia, so they could build the fortifications even faster.

Absolutely absurd was Flak’s angry thought upon hearing that news, but his superior officer, Ruling-General Trey, verbally praised out his opinion to the Sultan, declaring, Yes, my Sultan…that will make our soldiers even more stronger, physically!

Thanks to that final nail in the coffin, Flak carefully arranged it so that all of Vaspan’s mutineers remained behind in Pavelus, and were the only ones on guard duty the night they would secretly depart the city. Now the one and only reason why they did not immediately take over Pavelus itself was the fact that few of his troops (especially Flak) had thoroughly been tested for their loyalty to him.

So, after Vaspan and his army quietly left Pavelus in the middle of the night, they began the march down the coastline toward Mauritia.

Once the first formation had been called on the beach, about a half-dozen miles south, where two hundred large merchant ships awaited to take them all to their new city, Vaspan immediately declared to his men, I am no longer Prince Vaspan Helenus. My new name and title is simply, Emperor-Sedious Vaspan the Magnificent! Now the first thing I need to know, Ruling-General Flak, is how many soldiers we have…

Out of the sixty thousand soldiers stationed in Pavelus, it became tabulated that twenty-one thousand, one hundred and twenty-two troops had come along on horseback and supply wagons stuffed with money and valuable treasures. Only a few had changed their minds at the last minute, but were immediately killed before they could retreat back to Pavelus.

Several weeks later, Vaspan and his army arrived via the ships near Mauritia’s borders, conquering it without so much as a drop of blood spilt (as all thirty thousand troops stationed in this inland city were already loyal to Vaspan).

After all, he had visited Mauritia quite often these last eight years. While there, he richly blessed them all with money and gifts, and whispered promises that he would make a far better ruler. Once convinced, the Mauritians secretly began to build hundreds of thousands of defensive traps, expertly designed by Vaspan, whom had loved to build animal traps since he was a little boy. These traps were a necessity because this city had no solid walls or fortifications of any kind.

Upon their arrival, everyone—Vaspan, his fifty-one thousand, one hundred and twenty-two troops, and even his thirty thousand citizens—worked around the clock to set up all the defensive traps for miles around the entire city, especially around the river itself that passed perhaps a dozen miles from the city’s borders. They all knew that Brishavus would retaliate as soon as he heard the news.

Two days later, the very second the Sultan had heard the report of the treason committed by his younger brother, as well the desertion of one-third of his troops including his second highest ranking general, he became furious. Immediately he, along with seventy thousand sailors and soldiers—including five thousand soldiers that had initially been stationed in Lasparus—set sail for Pavelus.

En route back, the Sultan was relayed the information that his younger brother had just stolen Mauritia, which sent him into an unadulterated rage.

So, the day after having arrived at his capital city, he squeezed ten thousand additional soldiers onto his ships, which gave him a grand total of ninety thousand men. This made the ride extremely uncomfortable for everyone but the Sultan and his top generals.

Without delay or the proper planning, the fleet sailed south around the continent for Mauritia. Not surprisingly, because of the extremely low food and water supplies, as well the very cramped and uncomfortable conditions, the morale of the troops quickly began to get low…

Two weeks and one day later, the fleet arrived at the base of the river. There, the troops dismounted, for they would have to march the rest of the way to Mauritia—of course, the Sultan was in the rear of the formation. Almost right away, they began to run into Vaspan’s impressive array of traps.

Two days later, and without so much as a day of actually battle, he had lost more than eleven thousand men, thanks to the deadly traps installed by what Brishavus classified, My little brother’s $%#@ treasonous band of %@#$ mutinous riff-raffs! Every single night, Vaspan’s citizens secretly set up even more traps all across the battlefield.

On the third day, a fierce battle erupted like a volcano between the two enemy forces—by day’s end, more than twenty-two thousand men had been slaughtered, and fifty thousand wounded. More than two-thirds of those casualties came from the Sultan’s side, whose death tolls tabulated to nearly fifteen thousand.

At the end of the fourth day of combat, the report was delivered to the Sultan that he had lost more than twenty-five thousand additional men—ten thousand alone had died from booby traps.

Brishavus now began to fear losing the battle for the very first time. Due to this fear, he delivered the order to his number one general to retreat with the remaining forces back to their ships, and sail back to Pavelus, so that they could fight again on another day…

So, for the next thirty years to come, there always remained a stalemate between the two feuding brothers, even though they shared three more vicious battles against each other.

And during these years, Vaspan, who was far more ambitious than his elder brother, had successfully tripled the size of his lands—though most of this acquired land had been stolen from the Kingdom of Thorium, which lay to the southeast of Mauritia.

An equally great accomplishment for Vaspan was the fact that he now had two fully operational and fortified trade cities under his command.

His capital city currently bore a population of a little over a one hundred thousand, consisting of people of all classes—peasants, middle-class, rich, merchants, nobles, guards, slaves, etc., etc. Most of the people were middle class and up. His other city called Driven, which he had built from scratch, now bore a population of fifty thousand people of all classes, again, mostly middle class and up.

Neither city used conventional stone fortifications, yet instead a vast labyrinth that consisted of thirty-foot-cubed blocks of stone on wheels stacked together into a hugely elaborate maze that surrounded and protected the cities.

Vaspan had personally designed this type of defense—the labyrinth—for two reasons.

One, the always-ready-to-be-sprung traps contained within, as well as the tons of posted guards who directly guided only those travelers and merchants who displayed the proper paperwork, allowed but one safe route that changed each and every day. This proved to be exceptionally deadly, especially against large and organized armies.

And reason number two—the inner and outer borders could easily be expanded outwards to suit the needs of the ever-growing city.

Throughout all the surrounding lands, both ally and enemy, most of the people considered Vaspan to not only be the greatest leader, yet the greatest weapons’ master to have ever lived. Only a few called him terrible, but he didn’t care.

Vaspan confidently believed nowadays, thanks to his martial arts skills, that he could easily take out his brother, and even his long-deceased father—even when they had both been in their prime.

Now that Vaspan’s elder brother was finally dead (per the dream he trusted for a particular reason that shall soon be explained), he believed without doubt that he was the next-in-line to inherit the throne, and certainly not his much younger and inexperienced niece, Brishava, of whom he had met only once in his life. She too had been in his dream.

She was fifteen years old at the time when they met. That is, after she had secretly changed into peasant’s attire, escaped out the secret route of the palace, hid in the back of a wagon departing for the docks, hid in the bowels of a neutral ship that sailed for Mauritia, and stole food and water along the way late at night. It wasn’t until the ship reached the first checkpoint in the river that led up to Mauritia that she first became discovered by one of Mauritia’s border-patrol ships.

Upon the leader of the guards questioning her, of whom all had their swords drawn and ready to kill, the dust-covered girl revealed her true identity and that she desperately needed to see her Uncle Vaspan.

Though the lieutenant-in-charge immediately made the call for the guards to sheath their weapons, as she wasn’t a threat, he still didn’t believe a word of her story that she was the Princess Brishava Helenus.

Whether a princess or not, the lieutenant realized that Vaspan would be most-pleased upon seeing this extremely beautiful prize, and so he personally escorted the young woman to his ruler, after of course, they had gone through all the rest of the checkpoints.

Immediately upon their arrival in the palace’s throne room, Vaspan was in both shock and joy to see his niece, of whom he instantly recognized because of the perfect similarities from the portraits he had seen of his mother.

Through the night they talked, especially about the reason she had run away in the first place, yet by morning, they mutually agreed that it would be best if she returned back to Pavelus, so that her father—the Sultan—wouldn’t accuse Vaspan of kidnapping his princess.

The very next day, after breakfast and the farewells, she was on one of his fastest frigates, escorted by a company-sized element of his elite guards.

Of course, Brishavus didn’t even give so much as a thank you in response upon delivery of his daughter, but a written letter that said:

‘So, my rebellious little brother, you’re willing to give me back my daughter—are you also willing to give me back all you have stolen from me? If you do, we can have peace once again, and you will rule next upon my natural death. Sultan Brishavus Helenus of the Sharia Empire.’

Even though Vaspan flew into a rage beyond rages upon reading the message, not only throwing the letter into the burning fireplace, yet throwing expensive objects around and breaking them, he delivered back no response.

This is why—in the present—it both surprised and annoyed him that his dream last night had not only revealed his brother’s death and murderer, yet that his very niece had taken the mantles of the Sharia Empire without first consulting him.

After pondering her current welfare, Vaspan said aloud to himself, "Soon enough...once the name, wealth, and the lands of the Sharia Empire become acquired, one way or the other, everything will fall under the banners of the Vaspan Empire…

If things get acquired in a positive and peaceful way, I will allow Brishava to rule next, instead my firstborn son. However, if she forces us to take the other route, I will be forced to use my secondary plan in acquiring the Sharia Empire—war!

Nearly five seconds after he had finished with his vocal statements, the guards unexpectedly opened the double doors, which once again shown light onto his face.

A middle-aged man donning a green ruling-general’s uniform entered the room. He had a shaved head, thin black eyebrows, a clean-shaven face, and of course, he was built like a tank.

Five feet from his liege’s bed, he stopped in his tracks, snapped a sharp salute and asked, Yes Emperor-Sedious Vaspan, how may I serve you?

Even though the light from the hallway continued to remain shining on Vaspan, he lightly returned the salute for a second before saying, Ruling-General Thorn, it seems that my brother has died, which should make me the next Sultan, but—

But, Sire, Thorn interrupted incredulously, how can you know this? Our spies have reported no such word!

Though Vaspan cast a very sharp look at the recently-promoted commanding officer of both his army and navy (because Flak had retired of old age about a year earlier), he answered, I know it from the dream I just had! Actually this is the second time I’ve had the same dream…

Thorn looked thoroughly confused.

Vaspan explained a few moments later, The first time I had it, I was a very young boy, but as I didn’t recognize any of the people in it back then, I soon forgot about the dream altogether… That is, until tonight’s dream—now I do recognize a few of those characters, including my brother who was murdered, which confirms to me that the time has come to inherit my throne!

With ever-growing excitement, Thorn added, Then the Sharia Empire is already yours to command, my Emperor!

Yes…and no, Vaspan countered neutrally.

Thorn asked in total confusion, What do you mean?

Vaspan explained, Let me tell you the whole of my dream…in it, my niece had returned to Pavelus with a man whom I believe to be her boyfriend or husband because of the way they kept fondly looking at each other. For some unknown reason, she not only assassinated my brother, yet managed to keep his assassination secret. Somehow she and this man have managed to dupe not only the guards, yet the citizens of Pavelus into believing that they are the next rulers, and not I!

After taking a deep breath, he added, The only thing that remains uncertain is whether they have managed to sway the nobles to assist against our impeding attack, as was obvious by all the nobles’ very-uncertain faces…

For a reason known only to him, Vaspan immediately cast his gaze down to the black, red, and gold-checkered floor tiles, which colors represented the Vaspan Empire.

About thirty seconds later, even though he continued to look at the floor, Vaspan concluded, No matter whether my niece accepts this trivial fact or not, I am the next-in-line to rule! We shall sweep out and annihilate all who oppose my absolute rule as the Sultan over both Empires…

Of course, your Majesty, Thorn replied. My Liege, may I be allowed to ask two questions?

Without looking away from the floor, Vaspan nodded his head.

Thorn asked, First question—in your dream, or should I say dreams, did you happen to hear the name of Brishava’s husband? It seems obvious, your Highness, that you must not know who he is, or you would have already identified him by name to me.

Vaspan looked directly into his general’s eyes, before answering, The only thing that I know about this man is that there is something about him I really hate! But no, I don’t know his name or who he is—why?

So that I could send out spies to accumulate more information about this man, specifically his strengths and weaknesses, Thorn answered.

A few moments later, Vaspan answered, Actually, in both dreams, I saw only fleeting images, yet heard not a single sound throughout.

I see, Thorn said thoughtfully. Second question, Sire. Do you think it possible that the princess is only a love-sick pawn in this man’s game to become a Sultan, and that perhaps she may become murdered when he considers her usefulness complete?

Both a shocked and horrified look crossed Vaspan’s face, only moments before he glanced outside his balcony, which now revealed the early morning sky that was only moments away from sunrise. Finally, he growled, Quite possible…

Thorn asked, Based off your answers to my two questions, a third question springs forth, if I may, your Highness?

After Vaspan’s curious gaze fell to Thorn, he nodded his head affirmatively one time.

Thorn asked, Would it then not be best to deploy immediately to Pavelus, and show them through our strength of numbers who really should rule both Empires? After all, the final two mercenary divisions arrived but last night.

Vaspan cocked his head to the side just before he said, Perhaps—by the way, how many numbers have we accumulated to date?

My Emperor, it is good that you should ask this question. In one hour, I feel it would be better to answer your question; that is, after you have inspected the troops currently waiting outside the labyrinth. After, of course, you have been properly bathed, groomed, eaten, armored, and finally armed for war, my Sultan-Sedious Vaspan!

Vaspan nodded one time, while also being keenly aware that this was the very first time Thorn had ever called him Sultan-Sedious. He decided that he really liked the sound of that title, as well all his other lordly titles, just before he shifted over to the side of the bed, and rose to his feet.

Meanwhile, Thorn snapped his fingers—two scantily-clad-and-very-beautiful female servants, each carrying a torch, entered the room through the still-open doors. It was then that he headed for the room’s exit, so that he could wait out in the hallway.

Once the girls had finished lighting all of the bronze cauldrons inside the bedroom, perhaps a minute later, Vaspan allowed them to lead him by the hand into the large pool in the room’s center.

And once inside the pool, the girls undressed and bathed him. After this task was complete, they escorted him out of the pool, towel-dried and groomed him. They next began to dress him in his undergarments and then it was his black, red and gold-colored plate mail armor. Once done with that, they finally armed him with his sheathed two-handed sword, by strapping the white sheath onto his back.

Nearly thirty minutes later, the girls were done with their tasks.

Right away, Vaspan exited the room, and he and Thorn proceeded down the hallway until they entered the royal dining hall, where servants brought in breakfast, and they ate in silence.

After breakfast was over, perhaps twenty minutes after it had begun, Vaspan first nodded to the commander of his forces, and then he commanded, Let’s go, Ruling-General Thorn.

With a sharp salute, Thorn snapped, Yes, my Sultan-Sedious!

After the two made their way out of the city’s labyrinth on horseback, forty minutes later, Vaspan began to look very, very, very pleased at see what lay before him, literally spanning across an entire horizon.

For, armed and armored, hundreds of thousands of troops stood and waited in formation, ranging from infantry, to cavalry and artillery. Spread throughout the ranks, there were thousands of chariots, catapults, and of course, supply wagons carrying food and water. Most importantly to Vaspan, he saw standing proudly in front of their horses—his five sons.

Thorn whispered in his lord's ear, We have a grand total of one hundred forty-one thousand twenty-five soldiers in our ranks right now, my Sultan! Per your orders, twenty thousand of these men will remain behind to protect Mauritia while the rest of us deploy to Pavelus.

Really, Vaspan said, sounding quite pleased. After a curious look had grown upon his face, he then asked, How long will it take for us to reach Pavelus with this size of an army?

My Sultan, believe it or not, it will only take us between six and seven weeks.

Excellent! Vaspan exclaimed. Are we ready to deploy now, or do we need more time to prepare?

No, my Sultan…we are ready now!

Vaspan ordered, Perfect job as always—bring the army to the position of attention, my Ruling-General!

Thorn boomed out at the top of his lungs, Attention!

Even though ninety-nine percent of the troops hadn’t heard Thorn relay this order, as they had been quietly talking with one another, two of the trumpeters nearby did, and so they began to blow out a two-tone tune that was the call for the troops to assume the position of attention.

In unison the soldiers did, by placing their feet into a forty-five degree position, slapping their weapon or shield into their chest at the same time, and shouting in unison, "Hooooooooooooaaaaaaaahh!"

As for all the mercenary divisions, they stopped talking amongst one another and looked to the front of the ranks to see what was going on. Even though they had arrived by ships and would return to their vehicles following the formation so that they could sail to Pavelus at a slow speed, they would only dismount on the beaches inside the harbor when the order came through from Vaspan, and attack mercilessly—amphibious mercenaries was