Caliph Harun al-Mu'tasim stepped past the high gates of the capital, leaving the cool, shaded courtyards of his palace for the unforgiving heat of the desert afternoon.
He adjusted his silk robes against the dry wind and cast a brief glance back at the safety of the city walls. Beside him walked General Khalid, flanked by a host of provincial emirs and seasoned palace guards.
They had been asked to leave the comfort of their council chambers by Vanguard Commander Bjorn. The northerner led a detachment of five hundred mercenaries who now stood in quiet formation on the dunes. Bjorn had spent the past week demanding an audience, promising to demonstrate a weapon that would decisively turn the tide of their failing war. Khalid had muttered his grievances the entire walk from the palace, clearly unhappy to be entertaining the claims of a foreign mercenary on such a punishing afternoon.
