The sun was merciless, hanging high in the sky as Rashid’s forces marched into the vast, unforgiving desert. The heat was suffocating, waves of it distorting the horizon. Every step felt like a battle against the elements. Sweat soaked through armor, and the sand beneath their feet shifted unpredictably, adding to the difficulty of the journey. Rashid rode at the front, his eyes scanning the endless dunes, his mind sharp despite the oppressive heat.

Behind him, Malik led the second contingent, his face set in a grim expression. The soldiers marched in disciplined silence, but Rashid could feel their unease. Guillaume's forces were out there, hiding somewhere beyond the shifting dunes. This was no ordinary battlefield. The desert would be both their greatest enemy and their most powerful ally.

“Water,” Malik muttered, moving his horse closer to Rashid’s. “We need to ration it more carefully. The heat will kill them faster than the enemy.”

Rashid nodded. “Have the men drink in intervals. We won’t last long if dehydration takes hold. But remind them—Guillaume’s forces are just as vulnerable.”

Malik barked orders, and the soldiers adjusted their water skins, drinking sparingly. The harshness of the desert was beginning to take its toll, but Rashid knew that this was only the beginning. He had chosen the desert as his battleground for a reason—it would test every fiber of their resolve, but it would test Guillaume’s forces even more.

Meanwhile, back in the capital, Safiya moved swiftly through the palace corridors, her mind racing. The spy was still at large, and with Rashid now in the desert, there was no room for error. She had spent the last few days digging deeper into the court, questioning servants, guards, and even some council members, but nothing concrete had emerged.

Still, her instincts told her that the spy was close. Too close.

She entered the chamber of Khalid, one of Rashid’s closest advisors. He sat by the window, studying a map of the desert, his brow furrowed. Khalid was a man of few words but keen intelligence. If anyone could help her navigate the maze of intrigue within the palace, it was him.

“Safiya,” he greeted her, his eyes lifting from the map. “I didn’t expect you.”

“I need your help, Khalid,” Safiya said bluntly. There was no time for pleasantries. “There’s a traitor among us, and I believe they’re feeding information to Guillaume. We need to flush them out before it’s too late.”

Khalid’s face darkened. “You’re certain?”

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“I’ve heard whispers,” she replied, her voice low. “And it’s not just idle gossip. Someone knows Rashid’s plans. Someone close.”

Khalid stood, pacing the room. “The council is small. If it’s one of us, this could destroy everything Rashid has built.”

Safiya nodded. “That’s why we need to be cautious. We can’t accuse anyone without proof. But I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. There are too many lives at stake.”

Khalid sighed, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. “I’ll do what I can. But be careful, Safiya. If the traitor senses we’re onto them, they may act faster than we can.”

Back in the desert, Rashid’s forces had reached the narrow mountain pass that led deeper into enemy territory. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the sand. The heat had finally begun to relent, but the tension in the air remained thick.

Rashid signaled for a halt, and his men quickly set up camp. Fires were lit, and the smell of cooking meat filled the air. Rashid dismounted, his muscles aching from the long ride. He walked through the camp, checking on the morale of his soldiers. Despite the grueling conditions, they remained steadfast. They trusted him, and he wouldn’t let them down.

Malik approached, his face bathed in the orange glow of the campfire. “We should send scouts ahead,” he suggested. “The enemy could be lying in wait beyond the pass.”

Rashid agreed. “Send a small group. We need to know what we’re walking into.”

As Malik moved to gather the scouts, Rashid’s mind wandered to the palace. Safiya was handling the investigation into the spy, but the thought of betrayal gnawed at him. Who could it be? Someone close, someone trusted. The very idea made his stomach churn with anger.

He stared out at the mountains looming ahead, jagged peaks silhouetted against the darkening sky. Guillaume was out there, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. And when that moment came, Rashid needed to be ready.

Later that night, as the camp lay quiet beneath the stars, Rashid stood on a ridge overlooking the pass. The desert stretched out in every direction, vast and empty, a sea of sand under the moonlight. But the tranquility was deceptive. Somewhere out there, Guillaume’s army was preparing for battle, and Rashid could feel the weight of the coming storm.

Malik joined him on the ridge, his expression grim. “The scouts reported back. Guillaume’s forces are camped just beyond the pass. They’re larger than we anticipated.”

Rashid’s jaw tightened. “How many?”

“Thousands,” Malik replied. “And they’re well-armed. Cannons, crossbows, gunpowder weapons. They’re preparing for a full-scale siege.”

Rashid’s mind raced, calculating the odds. His forces were smaller, but they had the advantage of terrain. The mountains could be used to their benefit—narrow passes, high cliffs, perfect for ambushes. And the desert… it would drain Guillaume’s forces, sap their strength before the real battle even began.

“We’ll draw them in,” Rashid said, his voice firm. “We’ll let the desert do its work. When they’re weak, we’ll strike.”

Malik nodded. “And the traitor?”

Rashid’s eyes darkened. “We’ll deal with them soon enough.”

As dawn broke, Rashid’s forces were already on the move. The mountain pass loomed ahead, narrow and treacherous. His men were silent, their faces grim with determination. They knew what was at stake. Rashid rode at the front, his eyes focused on the path ahead.

The wind began to pick up, carrying with it the scent of sand and war. The desert was waking, and so was the enemy.

The battle was coming.