The Red Conquest

1

DIMASHQ
AL-ITHNAYN, FOURTEENTH DAY OF THE MONTH MUHARRAM
608 A.H. | 1211 A.D.

The tangled shadows lingered for a moment even after Dayfa opened her eyes. Around her was the thick blanket of darkness, heavy enough to unsettle her and flickering with the visions of something she couldn't quite see. She took a few deep breaths to steady her heart and listened to the early morning silence while her vision adjusted. The nightmares were becoming worse. To her left, the curtains that covered the window billowed tranquilly in the desert wind.

She stretched, releasing the tension in her clenched muscles, then slowly brought herself to rise. The air was chill and she drew her blanket protectively around herself as she padded across the room. It flickered to life as she lit a small oil lamp, revealing in dim orange relief the rumpled mattress that sprawled on the floor and the low desk strewn with parchment. The warm firelight was comforting and helped dispel the shadows in her mind.

Dawn was at least half an hour distant and sleep no longer held any comfort for her, so she moved over to the desk with the lamp in her hand. Kneeling over it, she swept the half-finished sketches aside to find the one she had worked on the previous day. It depicted a tower and its surrounding walls in intricate detail. Despite the lethargy that still pulled at her, it was easy to pick up where she had left off, and she delved back into her work immediately. There was something about the early morning that helped her focus, and her work quickly steadied both her thoughts and her hands.

Her fingers were smudged black with charcoal by the time she was done. A trail of small half-moon fingerprints on the desk and the edges of her linen shift followed her movements, but she didn't stop to clean her hands. Instead she stumbled up from her seat on the floor, leaning towards the shelf  wall - there! Biting her lip in concentration, she pulled the scroll out gingerly from where it was wedged beneath a larger book, and quickly scanned the faded diagram it held.

Dim light crept up behind her. It sneaked over her shoulder and illuminated the ink lines of the scroll in her hands, the silver dawn eclipsing the gold of the candle. And with  first light came the faint clack of claws on stone. She whirled around at the sound, a hint of a smile on her face.

"Sariyah," she whispered, hurrying over to the window to pull open the muslin cloth that kept the insects out. The small owl hopped onto the sill, his wide, amber eyes gleaming with recognition. He cocked his head as she stroked her fingers once, twice over his tawny plumage, lifting her gaze to the window to survey the sprawling gardens of the citadel outside. It was only just touched with the brush of daylight, the uneven skyline of the citadel walls but a shadow in the distance, not yet illuminated by the sunrise that she knew would be flooding the desert outside the city. Silhouetted against the ruddy western sky, the trees stood like sentinels, reflected in the now still pool of the fountain at the centre of the garden paths. Soon,  just before the full unfurling of sunrise, the first time of prayer would begin. She let Sariyah flutter up to his perch high on her top shelf, nestled in between the large books and neatly stacked parchment that had, like most everything else, gathered a fine layer of the ubiquitous desert dust on their skins. The owl did not mind it. His eyes squinted at her for an instant, as if he were yawning, and then disappeared into the dark.

There came a shuffling of footsteps from the corridor. She threw her head up as the thick hangings that separated her quarters from the outside were yanked open noisily by a girl, who quickly caught herself and retreated. "Khatun," she said, harried. "My apologies. Did I disturb you?"

"It's all right, Anjum." Dayfa grinned at her lady in waiting, gesturing for her to enter. Anjum moved to the bed to quickly set it right, then hurriedly gathered two sets of clean clothes from the basket in the corner.