Chapter 2: Cry or Flee or Scream
Outwardly, nothing had changed much since the night Aladdin had died. The days came and went. Or, at least Iago assumed they did. He now was deprived of a window in his room, and had only the visitations of the guards to mark the passing of the days.
They came less often since Mozenrath had arrived, one in the morning and one in the night, he assumed. They would bring food, and as always, no tidings. At first, Iago did not eat. For the first days, he was afraid that if he did, he would be sick. After that, he didn’t really see a point… perhaps he could starve himself. But, finally, Iago had realized that his starving would no sooner reattach Aladdin’s head and leave him walking about the castle than it would win the war. So, he’d taken to sleeping, eating, and then sleeping again.
All he had to do was sleep, and tomorrow, maybe none of it would be real. And, if it were, maybe he’d just sleep some more… sleep until he forgot, or died… or just gave up. It wouldn’t take long. Why can’t you just give up? Just go to sleep. If he won’t give you mercy, at least give yourself this much, Al. It won’t be so bad; it will all be over for you. You’ll just sleep and dream, and soon you won’t remember anymore. But, the thoughts had plagued his dreams, and when he woke, he just felt sick, and more tired than he had felt in a long time. And, it was all still real.
But, more than anything, he’d felt dirty. Once he’d tried to preen himself, but the taste of blood was in his mouth. It tasted like life and death and triumph and failure all at once. For a moment he thought he would vomit, but he would not give the guards the pleasure of seeing him be sick again. It was a weakness, he thought, a weakness he could not afford to show. So, he’d swallowed the bile in his throat, and promised that he would give the guards no pleasure in his suffering.
A few days later, a guard brought of a dish of water when he came with Iago’s evening meal. Whether it really was evening or morning or the dead of night didn’t matter much here. Iago assumed the water was for bathing and was grateful for the chance to clean his feathers of the remnants of that night. He’d bathed until he was soaked and shivering and had scrubbed himself raw. When a feather refused to come clean, he ripped it out and watched it fall into the water and float there. When he was done, the water was stained pink, and he still did not feel clean. But, he got out all the same and ate what they brought him like nothing was the matter.
Eventually, he’d taken to just living. It was more than he thought he was capable of. He counted the days as the guards came and went (he was at day 37 now). Sometimes, he ate what the guards brought him and, of late, he’d even thought about asking them a question or two about the outside world. He thought about Jasmine and Abu and Genie, and sometimes, he even made stories in his mind about what they were doing right now. He liked to think they were off fighting some monster or that somehow they had escaped and were fighting Mozenrath at that very moment. For a while, he entertained that the idea might have been true. After all, if they had escaped, he wouldn’t have been much help. Perhaps they would come back for him soon, if he just waited. But, he’d realized that idea was silly somewhere around day 20. Still, it was a nice thought, and he entertained it often.
But, every once in a while, no matter how he struggled, Iago asked himself the question. How had it come to this?
Truly, he knew. How? How could it? I thought you felt safe with him.
I did. I felt safe with him.
Then how?
I don’t know… how did it come to this?
And, one night, when Iago couldn’t ignore it anymore, he decided to entertain that thought before he forgot it entirely.
When word had first reached Agrabah, and more importantly, Aladdin, that Mozenrath had gathered an army and was on the move, the first initiative had been to ignore it. After all, what type of army did Mozenrath have… a few bumbling, clumsy mamlucks? But, then the stories had started, first spread by the fake priests on the streets who claimed to know the future. They stood on the street corners, howling of the end of the earth and, even worse, the sacking of city, causing panic to spread to the gullible smallfolk, then reaching the nearly equally as gullible guards, and finally, reaching the ears of the royal family.
The stories said nothing of a few “bumbling, clumsy mamlucks.” Rather, they told of an army of a different sort. An army numbering in the tens of thousands, stretching out farther than the eye could see. The vanguard was made up of the living, over one thousand trained knights, and nearly thrice that many ahorse. The sigils on their shield and sword reigned from all over the Seven Deserts, from Pakistan to Getzistan, and it was said, some even hailed from Agrabah. But, the true horror was not in the knights of the vanguard. They were flanked on the right and left by a writhing army of the undead… not mamlucks, but the truly undead. The tales told that they didn’t die, that neither sword nor mace nor fire arrow could harm them.
Aladdin had taken all of these tales with a grain of salt until the reports had come in… first from the north, then from the east, and then from the west as well. It seemed as if Mozenrath and his army were everywhere and nowhere at once. The reports were sometimes worse than the tales the smallfolk told.
Everywhere death… they read. The blood pours onto the streets in rivers and still the army comes.
The undead swarm over the city walls like locusts. We have thrown ourselves up against them endless times, and every time our army has fallen back broken. Our swords do naught against them, and our finest knights only fall victim in their paths.
There is no end. Our army was depleted long ago, and the enemy shows no sign of retreating.
They have taken the city. Every building has been put to the torch, the bodies of innocents litter the streets, and still they do not seem satisfied.
We have been walled up in the palace for weeks now. And, still the army waits outside. Perhaps they plan to starve us. It will not take long now. We are asking for reinforcements of any kind from any land that receives this message.
Agrabah had no reinforcements to send. War had come at a time when the city was completely unprepared.
At the news, Aladdin had done what he could to create an army for Agrabah. The townspeople were hungry for glory and eagerly signed into the ranks, knowing nothing of war, besides what their mothers had told them of chivalrous knights far away in Europe. He’d also taken to hiring sellswords, but Aladdin had no doubt that loyalty that could be bought for money would be lost just as easily when and if the city threatened to be sacked.
Aladdin had made Agrabah as prepared as it was like it get. But, when the attack did happen, it was not nearly prepared enough.
It was only a week since the last bird from the west had arrived. The message bore good tidings, saying that Lord of the Black Sands and his army had not advanced for weeks now. The pillaging of the hillsides and small villages outside the city walls had stopped, and not a home nor tavern nor inn had been put to the torch for a long while. Mozenrath was close enough to cause all of the Seven Deserts to be at attention no doubt, but not such a worry that anyone had any reason to stop going about their daily life.
That night, Aladdin called back half the sentries on the city walls and allowed them to spend the night with their families. They all slept more surely, Iago was sure, and he did as well. It was the last night he could remember sleeping without fear. It had been a good feeling, to sleep beneath the roughspun blanket, without a thought to the next morning. It was a warm feeling, a safe feeling.
But, the morning dawned cold and dangerous.
“Allah help us.” Iago heard the soft, disbelieving words through a veil of sleep. Who was speaking? He didn’t recognize the voice.
“Allah help us!” the voice was no longer whispering now, but full out wailing, and Iago knew he would get no more sleep tonight.
Aladdin was stirring now, too, he saw, but he still failed to see whom that obnoxious wailing was coming from. Then, he did. An old man lurched forward, wailing and sobbing and begging for mercy. ‘Oh, Allah have mercy. Will you not do something, future Sultan? Will you not save us?”
Iago pulled the blanket further around him… Save who from what? He decided then that he didn’t want to know.
But, of course, Aladdin had to ask. “What do you want from me?” Aladdin yelled, backing away from the old man, who was coming dangerously close in his hysterics.
“Save us!” the man was wailing again. He clasped his hands as if praying. “You must save us!”
Aladdin took another step back. He nearly lost his balance, but remained focused on the man. “From what?”
“Look out your window, my future Sultan, and you will see there is much you need fear.”
The first thought Iago had was that this man was a street priest, trying to ruin any chance of Aladdin’s successful rein… the second was that it was true, that the army was near… and the third was that he was not going to look.
But, when Aladdin went to the window and echoed, “Allah help us,” Iago knew what he would see and found himself morbidly curious.
The moment he looked, he wished he had not. Beyond the city walls, there was a sea of horse and man, all moving separately and as one at the same time. The sea was made of many colors, the blue of the leaping fish, the red of roaring sunfire, the purple of the dying heart, and a million others Iago could not hope to identify. High above the writhing sea, there waved hundreds of banners bearing every color Iago had seen, even some he had not, and the sigils of every Great House of the Seven Deserts. Iago looked on and on until the edge of his vision blurred and still could see no end to the army. He looked to the left and right and found the faceless masks of the undead staring back at him… and still no end. They go on forever.
He wanted to cry or flee or scream, but all he did was look at Aladdin and ask, “What do we do, Al? What are we going to do?”
For a moment, Aladdin did not answer. He only stared out at the moving masses the way Iago had and took a deep breath. And, for just an instant, Iago thought Aladdin was going to cry or flee or scream. But, it was only for an instant, and then Aladdin had taken control of his fear or despair or whatever emotion it had been, and turned to the old man. “I need you to do something for me.” It was more an order than a request, and the man did not object. “Alert the sentries if they have not already seen. Tell them to form up near the walls and wait for my arrival. If they won’t listen, tell them that the order is from the mouth of the Captain of Guards himself.” The man nodded, quietly, appearing to have found solace in Aladdin’s attention.
Iago knew it was a lie, but he also knew the old man would not question it.
“Don’t be afraid,” Aladdin said, and just then, even Iago believed him. “The city will not fall if you follow my orders. Do you understand?”
The man nodded again, this time Iago with him.
But, Aladdin did not take them to the walls. Iago was grateful for that. Rather, he took them to the palace where he did meet with the Captain of the Guards.
Rasoul had spread open a map of the city, and Aladdin and Jasmine hovered over it while he told them of their plight.
“What will happen?’ Aladdin asked, his voice quiet.
Rasoul ran his hands over the wrinkled parchment and sighed. “The city gate is here,” he pointed to a small black dot along the walls. “And, this is where the vanguard sits. We can choose not to open the gates. He might wait for a while.” They all knew who he was. “But, it probably won’t help us much. If they have to, they’ll ram the gate open, and enter… here.” Rasoul pointed to the main road into the heart of Agrabah. “We can meet them there, try to stop them. But, our army is not nearly large enough. Their army will cut through us, although we might make it harder for them for a while. But, in the end, it will be our blood that is spilled, and it will leave our walls weak in defenses. Arrows will fly over our heads, and if we try to turn to the walls then, which our inexperienced men will do, we’ll all be impaled so many times no one will know if we are wearing the sigil of Agrabah or the red of the sunfire.” He stopped for a moment and moved his finger to another area along the walls. “That is when his undead monsters will enter…here and here and in a million places we will never be able to find until they are all upon us,” his fingers swept along the length of the walls. “By then, it will be too late. The townspeople will be in a panic, rioting and begging for our help, as the men next to them are cut down and their women are taken for the pleasure of some knight. Your sellswords will not hold out then, Aladdin,” Rasoul nearly sneered that last comment. “They will flee, just like the old ladies in their homes. They will take what they can get from the pillaging, and perhaps, if some are lucky, align themselves with Mozenrath’s forces.” He stopped for a minute, his face serious. “All of the royalty will be taken for ransom or hostage. And, yes, that means you and your friends, Aladdin. You will be the first Mozenrath goes after. My head will most likely end up on a spike on a wall somewhere as a warning.” He breathed in. “Make no mistake, Aladdin, the city will fall, with or without you.”
Somehow, Iago knew he was telling the truth. Iago had read about cities falling before. It was never pretty. The city would be burned, and the people taken into slavery, or if they were lucky, killed. The birth of the royalty would save some of them. But, Iago had no high birth, and neither did Aladdin. He wondered if they would be the ones with their heads on spikes before this whole thing was over with.
“What options do we have?” Aladdin asked. Iago thought Aladdin must not have heard everything Rasoul had just told them. To him, the options were perfectly clear. Yield or die.
“Fight… and die.” Rasoul numbered the choices off his fingers. Despite the air of nonchalance in his voice, Iago could not miss the fire in Rasoul’s eyes. Right now, Iago had no doubt Rasoul hated Aladdin for refusing to see the truth. Iago wondered if the feeling he had for Aladdin right now was hatred. “We could wall ourselves up in here and wait for the storm to pass. But, we know what that good that has done those who’ve tried it. It’s another sure route to death.” Rasoul stopped, and Iago knew what he was going to suggest and that Aladdin was not going to like the taste of it. “Or we could yield. Maybe Mozenrath would take us all for hostages, maybe he would even allow us to keep the lands and palace as a lord if we bend the knee to his rule. Chances are he might not even harm the city, as long as we give him complete rule over it. Who would want to ruin their own city?”
“And, what choice would you have me make, Rasoul?” Aladdin asked, waiting for an answer that everyone already knew.
“Why, yield, of course,” Rasoul answered, incredulous.
To Iago, the idea sounded perfectly reasonable. They would still be royalty in a way, but more importantly, they’d be alive.
Of course, Aladdin had entirely different ideas on the matter. “Yield? Give the city over to… him?” Aladdin spat the last word.
Jasmine’s look shot daggers at Rasoul. “What would you have me do? Hand the well-being of the people of Agrabah over to its greatest enemy?”
”Princess, I only meant to save us heartache and bloodshed,” Rasoul stammered.
“No, you meant to hand my kingdom over without my consent. You forget your place,” for a second Iago thought Jasmine meant to slap him, but she only turned her face to the side. Iago imagined that she wanted to cry, or flee, or scream. He knew he did.
Rasoul looked first at Jasmine, and then at Aladdin. “It is our only chance. Have neither of you looked out the window at what waits beyond that wall? I can tell you what does. Death… death waits there. Don’t you understand? You have no choice.”
For what seemed like an eternity, no one spoke. Aladdin’s eyes flickered to the window and back, an emotion in them that Iago did not recognize… was it fear or sadness or defiance? Was it defeat or blind belief? Iago could not say.
“Yes, we do have a choice, Rasoul. I can choose to die here, defending my people. I’m not asking you to do the same… I can’t. I understand if anyone here wants to leave now. I won’t think any less of you if you do.” Iago knew he would. He would see me as a coward and a deserter… and a traitor. Iago had been a traitor before… it was something he never wanted to be again. But, is it worth dying for? The question was simple. But, if it was so simple, why didn’t he know the answer? He was going to die someday, he knew, but that didn’t make the thought any less comforting. Maybe I could leave now, and no one would ever think anything of it. They don’t really think much of me now… I’m not the hero type. In fact, they probably expect it of me. Heck, I even expect it of myself. Why let everyone down? Then the rest of them could feel better about themselves. “We stayed here to fight,” they would say to themselves. Fight… and die. It sounded thoroughly stupid to Iago.
Iago knew he didn’t have much here to fight for. Aladdin had Jasmine and the promise of being Sultan of one of the most prosperous cities in the Seven Desserts… not to mention the fact that he was meant to be a hero. This is what he was made for. Jasmine had her city and her people… and her duty. For all the love Jasmine bore Aladdin, Iago had always known that there was one thing that would always outshine him in her life… her duty. The others would stay for the love they had for Aladdin.
As hard as he tried, Iago couldn’t think of one reason to stay here and risk his life… which is why he surprised himself so much when he didn’t make the move to leave.
“I can’t believe you’re staying here!” Rasoul was yelling now. “You’re all going to die here, you know that? You, Aladdin, and your dogs of Agrabah. That’s what they are, you know? Dogs… following you around, never questioning what you say.” If Rasoul had been able to hear what was going through Iago’s mind… maybe he wouldn’t have been so sure. “Look at them now, they await your command. They’ll die for you if need be, and for no other reason than for you! They have nothing here… no family, no honor, no life except for the one you’ve given them and yet they stay here, knowing they will die. And, they do it all for you… they are your dogs, Aladdin.”
Aladdin’s eyes flickered back to the window. “Are you staying or going, Rasoul?”
“You know damn well I’m staying; I just wanted you to know… we are all going to die here.”
“Maybe,” Aladdin agreed without remorse, “maybe.” Jasmine clutched at his arm, and he looked at her. “Stay here, do you hear me?” For once, she did not object. “Call all the women into the palace and wall yourself up here. Mozenrath and his army will not reach the palace. Don’t let them be afraid. Keep them entertained… call in the palace jesters and singers.” Aladdin took her hands in his. “When the doors open, it will be me waiting there to announce our freedom.” He kissed her quickly.
“I will wait for you, Aladdin,” she promised. Iago knew she would.
“Abu will stay here with you. I will take Genie and his lamp. I know his magic won’t do much good now, but I want to have him with me.”
What about me? Iago wanted to ask. But, he was used to being ignored when he was with Aladdin. He supposed it came from not being the hero type.
“Rasoul and I will go out and form up the army, and we will meet Mozenrath before he reaches the city gates. We will meet him there, but he won’t be entering.”
“What about —“ Iago started.
Aladdin smiled, but it was the kind of a smile Iago imagined a murderer having when he was found guilty. “You will come with me, Iago. I’ll need you there.”
Iago wanted to protest. He wanted to cry, or flee, or scream. But, instead, he just nodded, swallowing hard. Why am I doing this? He still couldn’t think of one good reason.
When Aladdin had his horse bridled and mounted, and Iago had settled in on his shoulder, Iago finally found the courage to ask. “Why are we doing this, Al? Give me just one good reason we’re doing this, and I’ll do whatever crazy thing you’re about to ask me to do. I won’t even ask again… I won’t even try to get out of it. Just one good reason, that’s all I’m asking for.”
Aladdin did not even look up at him. “I will not yield the city to him.”
“No… it’s not that you won’t… you can’t!” Iago felt his voice rising, but he didn’t care. “You don’t know how. Because you’ve never done it… well, let’s practice. It’s easy. I yield. Just say it. I yield to you, Mozenrath. It gets easier after a while, I promise.”
“Iago!” Aladdin’s head snapped up toward him, and for one of the few times in his life, Iago could see true anger in Aladdin’s eyes, real, biting anger that he did nothing to hide. “I would gladly take your counsel if I’d asked for it, but I don’t think I did. And, this is not the place to question me… here, where the people can see us. If you had a problem with the choice I made, you could have pointed it out when I gave you the choice to leave back in the palace. And that opportunity is still open.” Iago cringed backward at his sudden anger. But, Aladdin’s eyes continued to burn with fire, and they did not look away. “Leave if that’s what you want, Iago because I am not going to yield.”
Iago knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to cry, or flee, or scream. He wanted to yield. What won’t you… why can’t you? “I’ll stay.” He wondered if he was more craven for wanting to leave or for being afraid to.
Aladdin’s anger melted away, and for an instant, Iago wondered if it had ever really been there at all or if it was just some terrible mask used for a practical joke. “I hoped you would.” But, Aladdin didn’t say it as if it were a joke. The war had changed Aladdin, Iago knew. He was still the same on the outside; he still looked as strong and fearless as ever. He was even the same on the inside; he was still a hero, still cocky sometimes, still so incredibly stupid that he would never see the truth until it was too late. But, somewhere, down deeper than that, he had become a harder man… or in truth, maybe he just finally become a man. Iago had always called him ‘kid.’ He didn’t know if he could anymore. Aladdin had never killed anyone, but by the end of the day, he would have.
“I need you to do something, Iago.”
No, you don’t. You can’t let me screw something up… not now. You don’t need me to do anything…get that guy down the street. You know he’ll do a better job than I will… you know it.
“I never wanted to ask you to do this. I want you to know that. I never wanted to ask you to make this choice. But, I have to. You understand that, don’t you?”
Iago wasn’t sure if he really understood at all. “Please, Al, if this is important, not me —“
Aladdin didn’t wait for him to finish. “It has to be you.”
“You know I can’t, not now, not here…”
“Iago, I trust you in this.” Aladdin said it quietly. Iago hated it when Aladdin talked like that… it made you believe he was right. “I’m not asking you to come with me into battle. But, what I’m asking of you is hard. Watch, Iago, watch. Stay as far from the battle as possible… you can’t be seen. But, watch us. When you are sure of everything you’ve seen, fly. Fly as far and as quickly as you can… fly until you come to the next town or village or kingdom, or whatever it is you see first. Don’t stop until you see people. If the city looks pillaged, keep going. When you find someone, tell them everything you’ve seen here, so that they will know. And, then, deliver one of three messages. The first is that Lord of the Black Sands and his army have attacked, but the army of Agrabah has thrown them back. Be prepared for attack, wherever they are. The second is that our army is losing, and we are in desperate need of reinforcements. Send them as soon as possible. And, the last, is that Agrabah is lost. Do not send reinforcements; it is too late for us, but not for them. Tell them to be ready, Iago. Tell them of what is coming.” Aladdin looked at Iago, his eyes searching for the promise that he was doing the right thing. Iago wished he could make Aladdin that promise.
“How do I do this, Al?” Iago asked.
“Pray,” Aladdin instructed solemnly. “Pray for the wisdom to know which message to deliver.”
Then, Aladdin turned back to the city walls, as if suddenly reminded of what he was doing here. Pulling sharply on the reins, he wheeled his horse around. Iago knew he was alone then, and Aladdin was not looking back to see if he was following.
Aladdin had never been overly religious, Iago knew. And, Iago didn’t even know if he believed in a god. He’d never prayed before; he doubted it worked. Aladdin was desperate, he decided. He was not going to pray.
But, when Aladdin opened the city gate to an army of 10,000, Iago prayed. He found himself mumbling praises to every god he knew, prayers he’d heard when he was younger… prayers he didn’t think he remembered… prayers he was sure he’d never heard.
Iago could have sworn that the land trembled. But, he supposed that had less to do with his praying, and more to do with the hoof beats of thousands of charging horses.
Aladdin stood in front of an army of untrained foot soldiers, green boys who had never held a sword, and a group of turncloaks he had bought and paid for. And, he did not balk.
The clash of steel on steel erupted on the field in a horrifying chorus. Somewhere, a horse screamed as it fell to the ground to be trampled by the others. Off in the distance, a war horn was sounding, a deep bass contrasting the high, brassy trumpet from the other direction.
And, then, over it all, the sound of a human scream, thick with agony and gurgling on blood. Iago couldn’t have said which side it was coming from. Either way, it was a boy, or a trained soldier… or someone, and that was all that mattered. Then, it stopped. And, Iago knew he was dead. He is the first to die today, but he will not be the last.
But, there were other voices to pick up the chorus where the dying man had left off. Sometimes the screams were words that Iago could make out, like “Pakistan,” or “Mozenrath,” or “Agrabah.” One time he was sure he heard someone scream “Aladdin.” Other times, they were wordless prayers or cries for mercy.
At first, the sides were lost to Iago. The colors of the surcoats and armor blended together, and Iago couldn’t tell the difference between Mozenrath’s army and Aladdin’s. But, slowly he began to pick out a few soldiers he could recognize. Rasoul had somehow gained someone else’s mace and was swinging it above his head with one hand, while he used his other to fight off two enemy soldiers with his longsword. Iago watched him for a moment, and he could see Rasoul was not afraid. He parried to the right and left, blocking blow after blow of the other swordsmen. He kept pace with the other two as they began moving slower and slower. And, Iago could see Rasoul was getting the upper hand. His sword was not heavy in his hand as it was for his enemies. With a savage downward thrust, he opened the first man from skull to neck, and then, with his other hand, smashed in half of the second man’s face with a swing of the mace. And, he laughed. Iago remembered having once heard of “battle madness,” a strange feeling of ecstasy and invincibility that sometimes overcame men while in battle. He’d never imagined it to be true until now.
Iago forced himself to turn away from the scene, and to his surprise, it appeared that Agrabah’s army was holding well. Dead men scattered the field, but there were just as many of Mozenrath’s men as Aladdin’s. Quickly, Iago scanned the battle for any sign of Aladdin. The only man that mattered was Aladdin. If he was lost, their side would break, and the city would be lost.
And, then, Iago saw him in the middle of it all. Aladdin wasn’t fighting anyone… he appeared to be looking for something. Mozenrath. Of course, Aladdin meant only to fight Mozenrath. And, Iago knew that the rules of battle where the same for both sides. If Mozenrath were killed there would be nothing left to fight for, and the army would break and flee for their lives. To win the war here and now, they needed only to kill Mozenrath. If anyone could do it, Aladdin could.
The second message… I’ll take the second. By the time I get back, maybe this will all be over… and if not, maybe the reinforcements will be enough to turn the battle our way.
And, then, the thrum of a trebuchet letting loose played through the air… and the field was alive with fire. The screams intensified as horses panicked, rearing and throwing their riders to be trampled under crazed hoofbeats.
He is insane, Iago realized inanely. He’ll kill them all, and he doesn’t care. It wouldn’t have mattered if we’d yielded. He’d kill them all anyway.
When the realization hit him, Iago found it strange not to want to cry or flee or scream. It would do no good, he knew. Fleeing was what he did when it came down to this, but now it all seemed rather pointless. He’ll have the Seven Kingdoms in a week, two if he moves slowly. And, whether I’m here or in Getzistan or hidden away somewhere won’t matter then. He’ll find me, and I’ll die all the same.
Before long, the heat of the fire was lapping up against him, and Iago did not move. Looking out over the fiery ruin of Agrabah, Iago found a strange beauty in the rolling orange and red flames, like some ancient house sigil brought to life. Scream and hoofbeat and clashing steel became one great roar of sound, and before long, Iago could not discern one from the other. He wondered if he should have been afraid, knowing he was going to die like this… but what he’d come to find out was when you knew you were going to die, it really wasn’t so bad. He’d always expected it to be horrific, but now he’d come to see that it wasn’t really all that different from when they had defeated Jafar… except this time he knew the outcome. It was comforting in a way.
Iago almost would have liked to stay there and calmly wait to die… he never imagined he’d be so dignified about the whole thing.
But, he’d made a promise to deliver a message, whether that message brought tidings of the fall or the survival of Agrabah, he’d promised to deliver it. I could still deliver the second message. Maybe… if enough of them would come…
A scrabbling, scratching noise rose on the walls, like so many rats scurrying within. First a hand, and then a foot, and then an entire body appeared. Then another, and then two more, behind him and in front and there next to him… and suddenly, they were in a hundred spots at once, crawling like great, gray spiders to the feed. They spilled over the walls like a swollen, rising tide. They moved with an unnatural speed and a grace that spoke clearly that they most definitely were not mamlucks. At first, Iago couldn’t have said who or what they were… this foreign army swarming his city walls.
But, then, he really looked. The flesh sloughed off their bones, and the sockets where their eyes should have been stared back empty, long ago rotted away as they had lain in the earth. This was his army of the undead. For a moment, the useless thought of how Mozenrath had pulled this one off crossed Iago’s mind. But, then a fear unlike any he had ever known took hold of him and would not let go. He tried to shake it… where was the calm he had felt before? Calm or insanity? He couldn’t say which.
And, that was when Mozenrath decided to make his grand entrance into Agrabah, the city that was to be his… his city of the burned, and maimed… and dead. With the undead crawling over the walls and the heat of fire lapping at his back, he came like the king he had become, not hidden in the black of night or through a tunnel under the walls, but down Agrabah’s main thoroughfare. His black cloak swirled effortlessly, and the gauntlet covering his right hand seemed less noticeable when he wore a mailed gauntlet as well. He was mailed from his helm to his boots in armor as black as onyx. Even his horse was black, and coated with the same dark armor Mozenrath wore. His helm was wrought to look like a horrid, smiling skeletal face, which would have shocked Iago had he not seen the actual undead making their way over the city walls already. And, his shield bore the same smiling skeleton, stark white on black.
But, his garb was not what worried Iago. The greatsword he held high above his head was much more of a threat. He knew what he meant to do with it. “Black Sands,” he cried out, and the reply shook the very stones of the city walls. Thousands of voices from all around him, it seemed, took up the cry.
Black Sands!
Black Sands!
Black Sands!
Were there really so many?
It was then Iago knew the difference between Mozenrath’s army and their own. They are not afraid. They ran through the fire and did not feel it burn their flesh. Their horses screamed and reared, and they did not lose their balance. Blood ran down into their eyes, and they did not blink. It seemed they scarcely felt anything at all.
It is all happening just like Rasoul predicted it would. Once an army felt fear, it was lost. Even now, Iago could see the lines begin to break. A sellsword ran, dropping his sword beside him. A hundred townspeople were burning… what little good their ill-fitting armor and pitchforks did them now.
Iago could have sworn he heard the crack of the small army breaking in two: those that would stay and die, and those that would flee and die all the same. Aladdin seemed so small out there now, so very alone. And, Mozenrath’s army was encroaching quickly. It appeared they knew the rules of battle as well as Iago did.
Iago knew the rules well. And, he knew now how this battle would end: with Aladdin’s body lying cold on the ground… either now or later… it made no difference.
Pray for the wisdom to know which message to deliver.
Iago had never considered himself overly wise. It would have been easy to deliver the second message, he knew… or to deliver none at all. He would rather have died here than deliver the third.
Pray…
But, Iago did not need to pray to know the truth. The city was falling… any idiot could see that. And, no reinforcements, no matter how skilled or how many, was going to save it.
They will all die, and I will be left. Isn’t that what he wanted? To live? Then how come I just want to die so badly?
He was cold, so cold.
Pray…
If he knew what he needed to do, why couldn’t he just do it? It was the hardest decision he’d ever had to make. Aladdin hadn’t wanted him to have to make this choice. But, it wasn’t any more Aladdin’s choice than it was his.
It was brave of Aladdin, Iago decided. He suspected Aladdin knew which message he would be delivering from the start of it all. The other two had only been meant to make it easier for him. Brave and stupid. A part of Iago was angry because Aladdin had lied to him, but the more sensible part knew he would never have accepted the task if Aladdin had told the truth. It was an evil thing, being lied to, evil and necessary.
He could have lied to the people in the next town just the way Aladdin had lied to him, and none of them would know the better. But, what would come of that?
More death. More screaming and burning in this red madness.
But, what good would come of going to the next town? Would they believe him? And, if they did, what would they do? Prepare like Agrabah had? Thrust swords into the hands of children who were little more than suckling babes? Buy an army that would turn and run at the first sign of a sacking? And, then die? Just as the people of Agrabah had?
In fact, wouldn’t it be more merciful to let them live their last free days in peace? It was as good a decision as he was like to reach, Iago decided.
He could die here, just like Aladdin was going to. After all, it wouldn’t be a bad way to go. Songs would be made of this battle. For ages and ages, people would talk of the brave Aladdin who brought his army into certain death, unyielding to the great army of the Black Sands. They all would be dead before the city was taken, Iago wagered, and Mozenrath would have little to take from the ruins of Agrabah. And, Aladdin might be dead, but there was little chance Mozenrath himself would get to do it. Not much of a victory, really, for such a large, skilled army to such an inferior foe.
So, Iago had thrown himself headlong into it all. Death was either side, and he wondered how soon his own would come. Somewhere, he dimly remembered seeing Aladdin pulled from his horse and shoved onto the ground by a band of Mozenrath’s living soldiers. Iago could have stopped then, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He flew just as Aladdin had said, as fast and as far as he could. The only difference was that he flew for death… not life.
It was all a blur when he remembered it. Aladdin’s capture, men lying on the field, blood pooling around them from a dozen separate wounds… and then, being pulled down himself, into the dirt and blood. He remembered that feeling well enough though, the dust from the hoofbeats choking out the sunlight, the ground beneath him rising up to meet him with a wet smack. Except it was not hard as it should have been…it was soft, and gave beneath him. For a moment he thought he would die there, sinking into the mud… or maybe someone’s horse would trample him. Either way, he didn’t have the strength to get up, so he just lay there, blinking up at the clouded sunlight, waiting to die. When, things went black, he was sure he had. The feeling was warm and comforting, and the mud was soft beneath him. Death should be worse than this.
But, when he’d woken up, he’d found himself in his cell in the Citadel. And, he found Jafar had been right… there were things so much worse than death.
Why couldn’t he have died? He’d asked himself that a million times since coming to the Citadel. Death would have been so easy, so final. But, to have to wake up and face this… emptiness day after day. This was hell, he decided. He couldn’t imagine anything in the afterlife being worse than this. He wished for pain, he wished for anger, or sadness… he wished for anything that could make him feel again.
Why had he been left to live when so many good men had died that day? When Aladdin had died… how come he had been left? He didn’t deserve it… he couldn’t even perform the miniscule final task Aladdin had asked of him.
Why? Why was he still here? What was the point of all this? What was the point of granting him his life when he’d tried so hard to lose it?
Of course, the truth was that there wasn’t a point, that this, simply, was a fluke of fate.
The Third Year by Catie Graham