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any reason or die before he could torture and impale her in the public square. Five Moroccan

soldiers walked toward the armed guards who stood watch at the gates. The soldiers approached

the guards, nodded in allegiance, and then pulled their daggers and killed them.

One of the Moroccan soldiers removed his facial sash. It was Prince Omar. Momentarily,

Daka, Sooth, and the other disguised men moved out of the shadows and slipped silently into the

jail. They slew every Moroccan they encountered.

All the cell doors had been flung open except one. Omar rushed over to it and called out

quietly, “Mother! Mother!” There was no answer so he banged on the door. “Mother, are you in

there?” One by one he searched the uniforms of the slain guards for the master cell key.

“You won’t find it,” Sooth said. “Ramoth would never trust a jailer with the key to the

queen.”

“What if she’s already dead?” Omar lamented to himself. “Am I putting my men in

jeopardy for nothing? Are my emotions for my mother clouding my decisions?”

Although the young prince was exceptional in many ways, Sooth realized he had never

been in a command situation, much less a crisis.

“Trust your instincts, my prince. Question only the enemy’s motivations not your own.”

Omar pondered Sooth’s words, and then turned to his captain. “Daka, if the Moroccans

come this time, in these close quarters, we’ll be outnumbered. Go now. You and the men get to

safety.”

“Forgive me, my prince, we go nowhere! We will die defending the air in this room if you

think the queen is in there.”

The royal guards said, “Ay,” in strong agreement, as did Sooth with a nod to the prince.

Omar was reminded of his mother’s greatness by the loyalty of her subjects. Aspiring to be like

her would guide him in the future.