Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 250

Chapter 250: From the sands(2) Chapter 250: From the sands(2) The atmosphere in the grand throne hall was thick with tension, as if the air itself held its breath.

Every courtier, noble, and official present stood silent, their gazes shifting toward Sultan Bayezid.

It was clear to all that his decision was what really mattered , determining to which faction he would lend his favor.

Shuaa remained resolute, her dark eyes unwavering as they rested on her beloved.

She was not alone in this confrontation; many among the nobles, particularly the most devout, stood firmly on her side.

Their loyalty to the high ecclesiarch was strengthened by their faith in her divine connection and the promise of a blessed heir growing within her,as many were among the first who witnessed her powers and blessing.  Yet, not all shared their conviction.

Another faction had formed, aligning themselves with Pasha Mamud.

These were the pragmatic, the politically calculating, or simply those who resented the power and influence Shuaa wielded as the High Ecclesiarch and the Sultan’s consort.

To them, her rise symbolized an imbalance in court politics, and they rallied behind Mamud as a counterweight.

The infighting in the Sultan’s court, though cloaked in debates of omens and military strategy, had its roots deeply entrenched in the question of succession.

With Bayezid’s vast harem producing many heirs, tensions simmered among the nobles, each fearing the rise of a particular faction that might tilt the balance of power.

The favor shown to Shuaa, with her influence as the High Ecclesiarch and the mother of the Sultan’s unborn child, further fueled these fears.

Whispers of a potential return to the dreaded era of the God Sultan stirred unease.

In those dark times, the power of the Sultan and the High Ecclesiarch had been one and the same, culminating in unchecked tyranny.

The most infamous of these rulers, Abraham the Terrible also known as the Frivolous , wielded divine authority as a weapon against dissent.

Declaring heretics of any noble family that opposed him.

Noble daughters were seized as concubines under the pretext of devotion, and those who fell from favor, be it politically or in bed , were condemned to agonizing deaths by fire.

Entire families, too alongside their daughters were cast into the flames, their ashes proclaimed sacrifices to the Fire and Sun God.

Such atrocities could not stand indefinitely, and a long-coming rebellion erupted, led by nobles exasperated by decades of abuse.

And so the Rebellion of the Moon and the Sun , commenced and then two years later ended with the rebel’s victory and Abraham’s capture.

Since it was considered heresy to spill the blood of the sultan, the enraged nobility buried him alive beneath the burning sands of the Kush Desert, a punishment as merciless as his reign.  Yet victory brought only temporary unity, for the question of succession plunged the Sultanate into further chaos.

Noble factions warred to install their chosen heir, each maneuvering to ensure a sultan who would limit ecclesiastical power and prevent another Abraham.

Ultimately, the rebellion reshaped the power of the enternal palace.

The Sultan retained supreme rule over temporal matters, while the High Ecclesiarch presided over the spiritual, hence the name of the rebellion .

This balance, while fragile, had held for two centuries, and now many feared that with if the child inside Shuaa was a male, the two powers could once again reunite in one.

The Sultan finally broke the tense silence, his deep voice cutting through the charged atmosphere.

“The instability within Romelia will not end in a single year,” Bayezid declared, his gaze sweeping across the divided court.

“While I would wish for nothing more than to march east and fulfill my high father’s plan for me of bringing the Romelians to their knees, the reality before us cannot be ignored.

Another horde has entered our blessed lands, raiding and pillaging the soil consecrated by my high father.” Shuaa, her voice measured but laced with urgency, stepped forward.

“Heretics from the west have pillaged our lands every spring, my beloved.

They come and go like a passing storm, leaving destruction in their wake.

What makes this different from before?” Pasha Mumad interjected swiftly, his tone sharp.

“This is no passing storm, High Ecclesiarch.

These are not mere raiders but a united horde, one that has named a horse king to lead them.

This is no temporary incursion-they seek to migrate into our lands, to claim them for themselves.” He turned to the Sultan with a grave expression.

“Villages and cities along their path have already been put to the sword.

If we allow this to continue unchecked, how long before others in that wretched lands of Barthai get the same idea?

How long before they see Azania as weak and ripe for the taking?Must I spell out to a woman what would dozens of hordes attacking our fertile field means for the sultanate?” The court murmured as Mumad’s words resonated with many.

Shuaa, however, stood her ground, her sharp eyes fixed on Bayezid.

Yet even she could not dismiss the gravity of what Mumad had said and she couldn’t certainly just say to ignore them.

She straightened her posture as she thought of a response, her voice carrying a tempered resolve.

“My beloved, surely your leal vassals could deal with these invaders.

Their loyalty and strength are blessings from the Fire and Sun God.

It would free you to-” Bayezid’s eyes sharpened, his expression hardening like tempered steel.

His voice was low but commanding, a thunderous calm.

“Are you rebutting me, High Ecclesiarch?Do you believe that I could allow enemy to ravage my land while, I am campaign outside my border?” Shuaa’s gaze faltered under the weight of his stern demeanor.

Slowly, she lowered her head, her hands clasping in front of her bulging stomach.

“Forgive me, my beloved,” she said, her tone soft and contrite.

“I meant no disrespect, only to offer counsel in service of your divine wisdom.” A faint, satisfied smile crept across Pasha Mumad’s face as he observed the exchange.

He leaned back slightly, his eyes gleaming with quiet triumph, savoring the sight of Shuaa humbled before the court.

The sultan, Bayezid, watched the tense exchange between Shuaa and Pasha Mumad with calm detachment, but inwardly his thoughts churned.

He was no fool; the divide in his court was as clear to him as the sun rising over the Kush Desert.

The nobles’ anxious glances toward Shuaa’s rounded belly betrayed their true fears.

They worried not just about her influence but about the child she carried-the son he had longed for, who would be born with both royal and ecclesiastical blood, he had many sons but none would be as prominent as this one.

Bayezid’s ambitions burned quietly in his chest.

He wanted his son to inherit both the throne and the spiritual authority of the High Ecclesiast, uniting the fractured powers of their empire.

Such a union, in his eyes, would restore the greatness that had been lost in the rebellion two centuries ago.

Yet, he knew the court would not tolerate any overt signs of such favoritism.

The memory of the rebellion of the Moon and the Sun knew very well what he could risk to ablaze.

If he were to realize his dream, it had to be done carefully, methodically.

Any misstep now would ignite a rebellion before his plans could bear fruit.

The nobles were powerful and watchful, their alliances tenuous but capable of uniting against him at the first sign of overreach.

For now, he would bide his time, ensure that no one could rebuke him, and slowly lay the groundwork for an empire where his son’s dual inheritance would be unquestioned.

But here, in this moment, he could not afford to give even a whisper of his true intentions.

His features remained serene, his voice calm as he spoke, yet the storm of strategy raged within him.

Every decision, every gesture was part of a delicate game, and Bayezid intended to win.

But for now he had to keep appearances.

Bayezid rose from his throne, the white silk of his robe shimmering faintly in the golden light filtering through the intricately carved windows. He swept his gaze across the hall, from the defiant piety in Shuaa’s eyes to the smug satisfaction on Pasha Mumad’s face, before addressing the assembly with the weight of his authority.

“I have made my choice,” he began, his voice steady but resonant, filling the grand chamber.

“For too long, the heretics on horseback have ravaged our lands, staining the soil blessed by the Almighty with the blood of our people.” Shuaa sighed and looked down ” They come not as mere raiders but as invaders, defilers who seek to claim what is not theirs.

They put our villages to the sword, burn our crops, and trample the livelihoods of those who call this land home.” He stepped forward, his white turban gleaming as a symbol of his station, his golden robes catching the light with each deliberate movement.

“It is my duty as Sultan, as the guardian of this realm, to stop them.

To bring peace once more to the lands entrusted to me” Bayezid’s voice rose, carrying both conviction and a regal command that could not be denied.

“We will confront this threat, not for conquest, but for the sanctity of our borders and the safety of our people.

It is not just our right, but our sacred responsibility to ensure that no invader dares to challenge the might of Azania again.

Only through strength will we demand peace, and only through unity will we endure.” The court stood in rapt silence, the weight of his words pressing down on them.

Bayezid returned to his throne, his expression unreadable but his resolve unmistakable.

“This is my decision.

Let none question it.” Bayezid’s gaze shifted to Shuaa, his expression softening just enough to reveal a glint of something personal-whether pride, reassurance, or calculation, it was impossible to tell.

His eyes briefly fell to her rounded stomach, then back to her face- “By the end of this conflict,” he said, his tone sharpening, echoing with an almost divine conviction, “the land blessed by my father will be cleansed of this filth.

These heretics who dare to trample upon our soil will burn, their false Horse King consumed by the flames of justice.” The words hung in the air, a solemn vow that carried with it both a warning and a promise.

“Their ashes,” he continued, his gaze never leaving Shuaa’s, “will rise as an offering to the Almighty, and his name will be honored with the fall of these blasphemers.” Bayezid turned to the gathered court, his presence towering even amidst the golden splendor of the hall.

His voice carried, firm and resonant, leaving no room for doubt.

“This year, we bring fire and vengeance to the heretics on horseback,” he declared, his hand sweeping outward as if to encompass the lands where the invaders dared to tread.

“And the next, we march east to put the Romelians under our heel, once and for all.” The declaration struck like a spark in dry wood.

A roar erupted from the nobles and courtiers, the divide between factions momentarily bridged by the unifying fervor of their Sultan’s words.

Voices rose in unison, echoing through the hall.

“Praise the sun!May he live forever!” Even those who might have harbored doubts found themselves swept away by the energy, bowing their heads and raising their voices in praise.  For Azania marched to war.