Last King of Kings-Chapter 40: The worries of unknown

Rostam was enjoying his time off in a secluded part of the palace, that was assigned for him. Around him, maids served fruits, dairy, such as cheese or milk itself, and wine. He watched them always run off, only to bring something good to eat. Although this scene looked as if it was from the heaven itself, it was only Rostam's body that enjoyed peace and quiet. Rostam's mind couldn't relax, thinking about the future. He was quite famous in the Empire even before, but now that he returned home as a victor, common folk cherished him, young boys admired him and other people of higher standing respected him. Yet he couldn't relax. He was thinking. What now? What will happen now? Will his Shahanshah start a full-out war against Arabs? And if so, can the country handle it? After all, Persian Empire has seen better days than now and waging a full-out war was very risky in this state. No one could tell who would attack Persia, if they concentrated their power on the Arabs only. They had to leave hefty garrisons in the north against the turkic tribes. Leaving the borders undefended or with poor garrison could end horribly for Persia. But what then? Although the reports said that Arabs have turned their attention towards the Romans, is that really it? Can they trust it? Rostam had no idea, and that was why he agonized so much over it. The fear of unknown, fear of not knowing something was the greatest fear a human could ever experience. Speaking realistically, Persia should use the time Arabs gave them to build up as fast as possible, waiting for the Arabs to come to them, not to go out to meet them. That was Rostam's ideal plan. The question was what will his Shahanshah decide on. Only time would tell, and so Rostam had only one option. To believe in his Shahanshah.

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"General Khalid, I bring a message from our contact in Persia."

Khalid ibn al-Walid was currently commanding his army and was planning to attack the Romans in Syria, when he received the letter from a messenger. It was from Endarghar, and judging by how quick the delivery was, the news weren't good. And he was right.

"So the rebellion failed, huh? It seems that Persians can only win if they fight against themselves." he said jokingly and grinned. Endarghar was supported by The Caliphate to ignite a spark of rebellion against the Sassanian order that held the Empire united. Were the Sassanid's defeated, the Empire would crumble into smaller states, that could be easily absorbed into The Caliphate. But since this tactic didn't work, they had to rely on the good old method. Complete conquest. It would be costly, but should the things go the same way they went before, they shall surely succeed. But he didn't have the time to think about conquest of Persia right now, as his main concern was the reported massive Roman army gathering near his location. He thought hard about this. Romans are no Persians when it comes to battle, so he couldn't use the same tactics he used on Persians. He had to come up with something new, some new tactic, new strategy. Basically anything that would help him winning the battle that was inevitably unfolding.

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Abu Bakr was lying in his bed, being taken care of by his servants. He recently started to feel more tired and much weaker than before. Perhaps it was his age getting the best of him. Whatever it was, it was weakening him to a point where he could no longer work as a Caliph to his fullest, so most of the function was now overtaken by Umar, who acted as a temporary Caliph, until Abu Bakr would recover. As one of the servants handed Abu Bakr some medicine, he was thinking about the consequences that would surely occur, were he to, hypothetically, die. He was an old man and thinking about him dying didn't matter to him. He already accepted the fact that it would once come and take him. But was he to die, what would happen? What would happen to the Caliphate, and Islam as a whole? There wasn't anyone strong enough to take over with a majority support. They would have to first hold elections, with people having the best chances being Umar and Usama ibn Zayd. That would cause a confusion, mainly for the Arab army currently in Syria, as it would take some time before the news will reach them. And even then, until the elections are over, who would they take orders from? And would they have to stop their campaign until the elections are over, or will there be some provisional commander until a new Caliph is appointed? The more he thought about it the more he felt tired. His eyes started to slowly close, his heartbeat fell more silent and slower with each of his breath, until his body and mind wandered into a never-ending sleep, never to wake up again. He fell silent so quickly, that he didn't even register Umar grinning devilishly at him from the doorway of his room.

Young Usama ibn Zayd heard some ruckus from above, where his uncle's, Abu Bakr's chambers were. And he didn't like it. He felt like he was being watched lately, which made him only more cautious in the palace. He tried to not be alone, and he also begged his uncle for bodyguards. Well, Abu Bakr wasn't his biological uncle, but the relationship those two had was comparable to that of a nephew and uncle. He got out of his bed after hearing whispers and quiet steps outside of his door. He quietly packed some basic things, such as a water flask and some food while he was at it, and exited his room. He had a basic overview of the situation. They were after him. His uncle was most likely dead and he was the next in line. He had to run. It seemed as if they didn't want to kill him so quickly after Abu Bakr's death. Perhaps they would be able to fake his murder as a suicide from the loss of a loved one. Perhaps. He ran down the corridor from his room, meaning to pass through a not often visited part of the complex. It looked like no one was pursuing him. He left the palace into the city in the dead of the night. He basically exiled himself. But it was better than to die there, by the hand of Umar. But what was he supposed to do now? Seek allies, perhaps? But who? Someone came to Usama's mind. It would be risky to ask for his support, but were he to get the support, his victory over Umar would be inevitable. And so, with not much money in his pockets, but with elan and vigor, he set off in the direction of Ctesiphon.