"Men of the Empire!"

"Today, we march to step onto the grand stage of a new world! We sail to the West, to show the entire world the might of Rome!"

"Forward!"

With a unified precise stomp of boots, the grand army of the Byzantine Empire began to move.

The people of Constantinople cheered wildly and tossed bright flower petals from the balconies as the column marched proudly toward the ships.

Nikephoros rode at the front, a thrilling sense of anticipation pumping through his veins.

***

Bab al-Dhahab, The Golden Gate of the Round City of Baghdad

The city, known across the entire world as the Jewel of the East, filled with the peaceful sounds of shouting merchants, debating scholars, and the gentle flowing waters of the Tigris River.

Grand Marshal Tariq, the newly appointed Amir al-Umara - the Commander of Commanders - sat straight upon the back of his warhorse, Midnight.

The main avenue of Baghdad was completely flooded with people, but they were not here to trade spices or buy silk. They were the families of the soldiers. Thousands of women, children, and elderly parents lined the dusty streets, clinging to the edges of the marching columns.

Tariq pulled on Midnight’s leather reins, guiding his massive horse through the crowds. He watched as a seasoned cavalryman, sitting proudly on his armored horse, leaned all the way down to scoop up a little girl no older than five.

"Papa, do you really have to go?" the little girl cried. Her face was stained with tears.

He kissed his daughter’s forehead and gently handed her back to his weeping wife. "I must, my little bird. But do not worry. I carry the finest steel, and I ride with the Amir al-Umara. I will bring you back a beautiful Frankish doll, I promise."

The soldier’s wife grabbed her husband’s calloused hand, pressing it against her cheek. "May Allah protect your sword, my love," she whispered, "May Allah save you and bring you safely back to our door. We will pray for you every single sunrise."

"General Zayd!" Tariq suddenly barked.

A young, handsome general quickly trotted up on a pure white stallion.

"Yes, Amir al-Umara!" Zayd answered, "The heavy cavalry is moving through the eastern gates! The men are eager for glory! The horses are fresh, and our blades are thirsty!"

Tariq sighed, shaking his head.

"Look around you, Zayd," Tariq instructed firmly. "Do you see glory here? Do you see thirsty blades?"

Zayd blinked, "I... I see our people, Commander."

"You see the true weight of the crown we wear," Tariq corrected, "Every single man riding behind us has a family praying to God for his safe return. If you ride into battle seeking only fame and songs, you will get these men killed. You must fight with a cold mind and a heavy heart. You must fight to bring them home. Do you understand me?"

Zayd swallowed hard. He looked at Tariq with deep respect. "I understand, Commander. I will not waste a single drop of their blood."

"Good," Tariq nodded proudly. "Now, where is our favorite shadow?"

"Right behind you, my friend."

Tariq slowly turned his horse around to find Hassan, the Chief of Whispers, sitting casually on a sleek, sand-colored mare.

"You always move too quietly, Hassan," Tariq chuckled, gripping the spymaster’s forearm in a tight, brotherly greeting. "I swear, one day my horse is going to kick you purely out of surprise."

Hassan laughed, "If your horse kicks me, Tariq, who will tell you where the enemy is hiding?"

"Fair point," Tariq smiled. "Tell me you bring good news from the Caliph. The men are fully mobilized. The families have said their goodbyes. Are we truly doing this?"

"We are truly doing this," Hassan confirmed, "The latest spy reports from the deep West just arrived by carrier pigeon. It is exactly as Caliph Al-Mu’tamid predicted."

Tariq unrolled the map.

"Duke Odo and the Holy Order have completely emptied the southern Frankish garrisons," Hassan explained.

"Tens of thousands of their heaviest, most elite knights are currently sitting in the freezing mud outside the walls of Calais. They are completely obsessed with destroying King Ragnar and his new iron weapons."

"And while the great Frankish dogs are busy barking at the Iron King’s door in the North..." Tariq mused, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"...They have left their southern gates completely wide open," Hassan finished with a nod.

"No heavy cavalry. No grand armies to stop us. Just a few terrified local militias guarding the wealthiest lands in Europa!"

Tariq felt a sudden rush of respect for Ragnar Ulfsson. By simply existing and threatening the old order, Ragnar had drawn the entire Christian army away, handing the Abbasid forces a golden key to Europa.

"It seems we owe the Iron King a massive debt of gratitude," Tariq smiled, handing the map back to the spymaster. "When this is all over, I will have to send him a barrel of our finest wine."

"I am sure he would prefer a barrel of our fine sulfur for his explosives," Hassan joked, "Ride safely, Amir al-Umara. The Caliph expects a total victory."

"He shall have it!" Tariq promised.

Tariq spurred his massive black horse, galloping up to the very front of the marching columns.

He rode out past the towering golden gates of Baghdad, stepping out into the vast, open plains outside the city.

To his left were the elite Mamluk cavalry, sitting atop fast, nimble desert horses.

To his right were the camel archers, capable of firing deadly volleys while riding at full speed.

In the center, tens of thousands of heavily armored spearmen stood shoulder to shoulder.

Behind them, massive supply wagons, siege engines, and engineers carrying highly advanced Greek fire throwers rolled into position.

Tariq rode back and forth along the front of the massive formation. He looked at the faces of his generals, his captains, and his men. They were nervous, yes, but they were also incredibly brave.

Tariq drew his massive, straight steel broadsword, raising it high into the hot, golden air.

"Men of the Caliphate!" Tariq roared, "Look behind you!"

The soldiers turned their heads, looking back at the walls of Baghdad.

They could see the tiny figures of their families waving from the rooftops, still praying for their safe return.

"That is what we fight for!" Tariq declared.

"We march to secure the future of our families! We march to build a legacy that will last for a thousand years!"

The men began to bang their swords against their iron shields.

"The arrogant kings of Europa have forgotten us!"

Tariq reared his massive black warhorse up on its hind legs.

"We do not stop until we have taken Francia!"

"For the Caliph! For our families! Forward!"

"FORWARD!" the massive army roared back.