Legends Never Die: I See Fire (ch. 72) (Patreon)

Hadi's father couldn't have been more happy even if Allah himself parted the skies and proclaimed him a prophet. A royal advisor. A direct connection to the throne. A position of great influence, even if it was to the second son, as a prince was still a prince. It was more than his father could have ever hoped for. Given how proud his father was… it was all the evidence that Hadi needed to understand that, at some point, he had taken a very wrong turn in life.

He never should have agreed to the officer commission. It wasn't Crete where things went wrong, it was the moment he gave in to his father's demands after being threatened to be cut off from the family treasury yet again. He could have been a merchant. He only agreed to the military because it sounded like less effort -- he had seen plenty of officers in his time. They drank, they whored, they kicked up their feet and offloaded all their duties to their underlings. A truly ideal life, he thought.

What a fool he was.

“At least I'm not in command,” Hadi muttered with no small amount of relief as he peered up at the bright blue sky, not so much as a cloud in sight. Meaning no hope that the fleet would be delayed. All around him were the sounds of over eager men, ready for glory and riches, as the port in Acre was alive with noise. The fleet that Hadi had once commanded was solidified again to ferry across another twenty thousand men.

Though, it wasn't the same twenty thousand men. The commanders and nobility that had won wealth and prestige in the raiding were honored by fighting beside the crowned prince. Which left nobility that wasn't currently wreathed in glory biting at the bit for a chance to show up their political rivals.

“You are an advisor. The prince would be foolish to ignore your words,” his bodyguard, Zafir said. It had been quite a challenge to talk the man out of killing himself, as he had sworn to do when his words led the army into a trap, but it was well worth the effort because Zafir, once he regained his strength, was a excellent man to have between himself and anyone that wanted to kill Hadi at any given time. He did come as a package deal with the child Alim, who…

Hadi's gaze flickered to Alim, watching the child watch men loading supplies onto boats. His hair was trimmed, his clothing replaced from the rags he once war, but… Alim seemed to sense his gaze because Alim looked at Hadi. There was something odd about the child. Beyond the fact he apparently knew Persian, Egyptian, a strange tongue that Hadi couldn't place, and Arabic. It was Arabic that drew the most questions from Hadi.

It had been just over a century and a half since the prophet's death, and in that time, Arabic had spread amongst the nobility. It was the official language of the courts, so nobility, even minor nobility like he had been, were expected to learn. Wealthy merchants and statesmen would learn in the hopes of currying favor. The people, in large part, still spoke the languages of their forebears. Even if it was a language that Alim just so happened to pick up as he had a talent for learning languages, it raised a question of who exactly had he been around to learn it.

“I'm one of many,” Hadi said, looking away. The relationship between the two was a mystery that Hadi hoped to unwrap with time, but it couldn't be his focus. “And I imagine most of my advice will conflict with the rest, all of whom outstrip me in status.” Even with his new elevation, he was still quite minor. He had no men at arms to offer, no resources, or influence -- he just had his sound advice, and Hadi knew that it wouldn't be enough. “And I doubt that Prince Harun will risk offending his supporters on my behalf.”

Not that Hadi wanted him to. The very last thing he needed was other nobility seeing him as competition. That's how you get assassinated.

“Then what is the point of bringing you at all?” Zafir questioned and that's what Hadi would like to know.

“Alas, it is not my place to question royalty,” Hadi said before a commotion drew his attention. He recognized a royal palanquin when he saw one, but he wasn't sure who was arriving. There had already been a send off at Baghdad where the army began its march to the Roman border. And, as it arrived, Hadi saw a messenger breaking off and heading to them and Hadi swallowed a sigh.

He hopped off the crate he had been sitting on as the messenger arrived, bowing his head as he spoke, “My lord, you have been invited to dine with the prince and his sister.” A royal invitation. Hadi wanted to weep tears of blood, but it was a relief to see that he was hardly the only one being invited. He saw other nobility, much higher nobility, making their way to the flagship that Prince Harun resided. Hadi nearly started weeping tears of blood then because that was the kind of nobility that would take his mere presence as an insult.

“I would be honored,” he lied through his teeth and he could have sworn that he heard the faintests of laughs coming from Alim. A quick glance at him revealed his usual expressionless face. Swallowing a sigh, he bid them farewell before following the messenger. It would be a decent enough opportunity to see the flagship -- as Hadi had no command of a ship or men since he could supply none.

The messenger led him down the docks and to the ship -- there, he saw that a tent had been put up on the upper deck where Hadi arrived just in time to see the princess stepping out of the palanquin. She wore light blue silks and a veil, while dark hair fell in long black curls down her back. She was richly adorned with gold and sapphires, and the largest that Hadi had ever seen sat in the jeweled band around her head. She wore a king's ransom.

“Jasmine. Father would be quite wroth if he heard of this,” Harun said, seated at a low flat table. Jasmine. The name didn't ring any bells to Hadi's ear as he took a place at the very end of the table, as was befitting of his station. He purposefully avoided the gaze of Emir Muhammad, high nobility. Very high. Hopefully, he would forget Hadi existed soon enough.

The princess herself was likely the child of a second or third wife, or perhaps even a child of a concubine. But, given that she bore the title of princess, she was likely a child of a wife or the Caliph held her in particular esteem.

“By the time he returns, he'll have forgotten all about it,” she seemed confident, “At least I didn't sneak away as a commoner -- I would have if I could have taken Rajah with me.” Hadi had no idea who Rajah was, but based on how amused Prince Harun seemed, Hadi was convinced he didn't want to find out.

“And why has my sweet sister come all this way? The journey between the palace and Acre is no small trip,” Prince Harun questioned and beneath the veil, Hadi saw Princess Jasmine smile.

“I am to see my favorite brother off as he rides to war,” Princess Jasmine decided, taking a seat beside her brother. Willful. But Hadi supposed being a child of the Caliph came with some advantages. “Perhaps even join?”

“No,” Prince Harun declined and behind the veil, Hadi saw her pout, even if she didn't seem surprised. “It is too dangerous. War is not a place for women.”

“I've heard tales that the Pagan allows his women to fight,” Princess Jasmine argued without any real heat, seemingly accepting the answer for what it was.

“A savage, my princess. With godless and barbaric ways,” Emir Muhammad offered.

Then something rather unfortunate happened. The Princess looked to Hadi, “Lord Hadi, have you seen such things? Do the rumors have any substance to them?”

Why? Why were you people doing this to him? “They do, my princess,” Hadi answered and he saw that Princess Jasmine was all too delighted with the news. “Siegfried's wife, Princess Astrid, seems to be a warrior of some renown. At least before finding herself with child.” It was a strange custom, and Hadi wondered what brought it about. What land could be so harsh that women were needed to fight?

Hadi swallowed anything else he had to say because Emir Muhammad seemed to take it as a personal insult that Hadi had spoken. Or that he was acknowledged in any way.

“I would like to see this princess. Can you not at least send for me, dear brother? You will have to spend some time on Crete before continuing the invasion?” She tried and Hadi saw her game. Offer high, settle lower -- a bargaining tactic that existed as long as there was bargaining.

Prince Harun pondered that, and the fact that he did told Hadi that the two were close. Close enough that the prince wished to indulge her curiosity. To that, he looked to Emir Muhammad, who seemed all too happy to give his opinion. “We will spend at least a moon turn on Crete after we take it. To give the Roman's pause. I see no reason why you could not join us. Perhaps the Pagan shall make a fine pet.” He laughed lightly at his own joke and Hadi's gaze turned to his cup before him. No wine. Just juice. How unfortunate.

Emir Muhammad's game was easy enough to figure out. A month in close proximity with a princess. Hadi was too new at court to tell who was in favor and who wasn't, but given that Emir Muhammad was here Hadi assumed that he wasn't particularly in favor. Powerful enough to not be ignored, certainly, but not lavished with royal attention. Seducing a princess could change that, Hadi thought, taking a sip of his juice.

“How lovely. Then I shall remain in Acre, awaiting your ships,” Princess Jasmine said, patting her brother's hand, getting everything that she wanted. Harun seemed to realize what his sister did based on his mildly amused look, but he didn't correct her. Right. Well, so long as the two of them stayed far away from him, he physically couldn't care less even if he really wanted to. “Do you think I could speak to the Pagan? The tales that surround him are fascinating.”

Why was Emir Muhammad glaring at him? What did he do? Ah- royal attention. Again. Prince Harun gestured to him, “Sheikh Hadi has had some experience with him. Do you believe my sister's desires have hope of being fulfilled?” Why are you phrasing it like that? Stop it.

He should say yes. Say yes, and be done with it, but the conversation was far too light. Too simple. They spoke as if they had already won, and it was that very same attitude that led to the disaster that ended with him in charge of twenty thousand men. No. Not again. He refused. He'd rather let everyone die than to pick up the mantle of responsibility. So, better to tell the truth -- a little unpleasantness now beats a lot of unpleasantness later. “It is most unlikely, I am most afraid to say. Siegfried’s people glorify death.”

Princess Jasmine seemed genuinely saddened while Prince Harun seemed genuinely distraught. “They glorify it?”

“I cannot claim to be an expert, but among my retinue are those that spent some time in Norland. Their gods are strange, but the important bit is that they wish to enter Valhalla. One of their afterlives that is reserved for those who die gloriously in battle. The pagans seem to have many realms of death, but it is Valhalla they most desire. So, it burdens me to sadden my princess, but it is most likely that the pagans will fight to the death.” They were a strange people. Hadi personally didn't at all care for it. He liked living far too much.

Emir Muhammad sneered at him, “There is no Valhalla,” he cursed. “And I wonder why you know so much about these pagan ways.” Why. Why would you do this? Just…

Hadi inclined his head, “Of course there is no Valhalla. But, to them, it is real. As real as Jannah is to us. So, they shall fight and die for the right to enter. As for why I know so much… I wish to know my enemy before I face him.” He’d interrogated both Zafir and Alim for everything they knew. He poured over the reports his spies managed to send him with dead drops. And it all painted a damning picture. “After all… The Pagan felt comfortable facing twenty thousand men with two thousand before. Now he faces twenty thousand with five. I imagine, right now, he feels confident that he can win.”

“Then he is a most dangerous foe,” Princess Jasmine stated and he was glad at least someone understood. She turned to her brother, grabbing his wrist. “You'll take care, won't you?”

Prince Harun seemed pensive. Not afraid, per say, but unsure. “Of course, dear sister.”

Emir Muhammad nodded, “The pagans are not even heathens. They are godless. Despite Hadi's warnings, with the light of Allah on our side, we shall be victorious.” No title, huh?

It was a cold comfort, Hadi thought as he sipped his juice, that Emir Muhammad was likely among the first that would die in the coming battles.

…

They set sail that same day, the journey to Crete was a short one, no more than a day of travel with such numbers. Hadi remained on the flagship, joined by Zafir, Alim, and his brother, Naeem. Naeem was less than pleased to learn that he had stepped on the toes of an Emir, but there was little to be done. At the very least, he was on his own flagship with the ten thousand men that he had committed to the invasion. The other lords, the lesser lords, made up the other ten thousand.

Despite Hadi's wishes, the weather held. It was smooth sailing the first day of the journey, slowing at night, and it was during the evening of the second day that the island of Crete arrived on the horizon. There, they would disembark at the Abbasid settlement to rejoin with a force that was left behind to maintain their presence on the island. The plan was an assault by sea and land, and with sheer numbers, they would overwhelm Siegfried's forces.

Under normal circumstances, Hadi would say it was a fair plan. Siegfried would be a fool to attack an army four times the size of his, closer to five even with the men left behind. The smartest thing he could do was hold out against their numbers behind his walls. Yet…

Yet, Hadi saw the first sign that Seigfried wasn't content to stay behind his walls when between them and Crete was a single ship. Roman make. “My prince, we should give that ship a wide berth,” he offered his advice, watching as the distance between them gradually shrunk. From where Hadi stood, he saw Romans on the deck of the ship, scurrying about like they were doing something.

“They have signaled that they wish to parlay,” Yahya, the chief advisor to Prince Harun, replied as he stood on the other side of the prince. Hadi worked his jaw.

“A single ship then,” Hadi argued, “but not this one. I have heard tales of the Roman fireships -- just two of them managed to lay waste to the pirates on Crete.”

“Lord Hadi speaks sense. It's an unnecessary risk -- send a ship ahead to see what they wish to say,” Prince Harun decided and a knot of tension unwound from between Hadi's shoulders. Prince Harun favored him a glance, “I too have heard of these fire ships. Yet, to many, they are a thing of legend.”

“I hope I am wrong, my prince. But the consequences of being right are too grave to ignore,” Hadi offered, earning a small nod from Prince Harun. They watched as a ship was chosen to sail forward to interact with the lone Roman ship. The tension returned as Hadi watched the two draw near… only for the Roman ship to betray its intentions by surging past it.

“Archers!” Prince Harun shouted out as the Roman ship pressed forward. “Engage the enemy!” Two ships broke off from the formation to clash against the Roman ship, preventing it from nearing the flagship. Archers lined up on the bow of the ships, drawing their arrows and letting them fly. A good number of the arrows sank harmlessly into the water, but some struck true. The Romans, however, retaliated.

Fire. Fire leapt from the Roman ship, dousing the two that intercede it, and across the water Hadi heard screaming. The ships were almost instantly doused in flames, burning, thick black smoke rising as Hadi soon smelled burnt meat and hair. His stomach clenched, bile starting to rise in the back of his throat. Prince Harun stopped, staring at the grisly display with naked horror and disgust. “My prince, the fire ship cannot reach the main fleet.”

“I-” he was uncertain, but Prince Harun, to his credit, swallowed down his revulsion. “Divert course,” he ordered but Hadi knew it wouldn't be enough. The fire ship sailed beyond the two burning ships, heading to the bulk of the fleet and igniting another ship, this one closer. Hadi saw men jump overboard as they were wreathed in flames, only for the flames to continue to burn underwater as the men sank below the waves.

Hellfire. The Romans had tamed hellfire.

The order went out, and under normal circumstances, the maneuver would have been smooth. Only now there was a ship belching fire at them -- those that were too close to the fire ship for comfort diverted course too hard, slamming into the ships at their sides in an effort to get away. And it was then that Hadi realized the true danger of the fire ship. The fire was deadly, but a lone ship was a lone ship. With calm and resolute men, it could easily be dispatched.

Fire inspired fear. Fear gave way to panic. Panic led to poor decisions and those poor decisions made a situation that could have been mangable into an unmitigated disaster.

The ships that crashed were targeted, dousing one ship caused it to spread. The spreading of the fire incited further panic into other ships, causing further crashes as the fire ship burned a bloody path through their formation. And there was only one way for it to get worse, Hadi decided, looking out to the horizon, and he saw exactly what he feared to see.

“Ships incoming! Ships incoming!” he called out, seeing a dozen of the Norse ships racing towards them at what felt like impossible speeds. They sat low in the water, a full sail carrying them forward -- the ships were entirely too fast for Hadi’s liking, and they were going to capitalize on their disarray to inflict even more damage upon them. And… “My prince… we must sail forward.”

Prince Harun looked to him, his skin pale and sweat upon his brow. “Forward?”

“Accept the cost in blood, and sail forward. The norsemen will pick us off otherwise,” Hadi advised, knowing it in his gut that it was true. It was a cunning plan. Use the fireship to incite panic while the Norsemen harried them, panicking them further while they couldn't muster a proper response. And, from the looks of it, Prince Harun suspected it too.

He gave the order to sail forward, the command echoing out and the response was sluggish. Too sluggish. The fireship inflicted further cost, and some men disobeyed the order entirely to chase the norsemen. They all suffered for it, but the order to go in a single direction prevented any more crashs and clumping. In the end, the fire ship used up its hellfire, and it was swiftly destroyed when it began to flee. And, to Hadi’s immense horror, the men chose to set fire to the very ship that they were on rather than let it fall into their hands.

The damage was harsh, but moving in a formation lessened the impact of the norsemen that circled them, firing arrows with deadly accuracy. But, once it was clear that the plan hadn't worked as they wished, the norsemen were quick to abandon the attack and sail back towards Norland. Leaving their fleet a moment to regather itself.

The damage was severe, but less than first impressions would assume. Hadi's worst estimate was that they lost half the fleet, but the truth of the matter was that they had only lost a dozen ships. Still a heavy loss, but a significant portion of those that were on the ships were fished out of the water. They would need to land to get an accurate count of their losses, but things weren't so disastrous that the invasion needed to be called off before it began.

“My prince?” Yahya prompted as a few hours passed in the open water, fishing people out if it while gathering the fleet up once more. Prince Harun looked out at the burnt out ships, only some remaining above water.

“Lord Hadi -- this is the Pagan's doing?” the Prince questioned and Hadi didn't even hesitate to nod.

“Almost certainly. The Pagan is clever, my prince. And ruthless to his enemies. We will not find an easy foe in him,” Hadi advised, glad that he was starting to understand. His words were absolutely worthless without understanding or action.

Hadi never wanted to face Siegfried in battle, but by royal command, that choice was robbed of him. Leaving him only with trying to endure his own survival.

Prince Harun seemed to mull that over before he nodded to himself. “We continue to port. Lord Hadi, you shall be by my side,” he informed and… well… dealing with jealous nobles was about as deadly as a pagan demi-god, but they could be a problem for another day.

With the decision made… they continued on to sail into port.

Hadi only realized far too late that they had stepped head first into a noose.