A Throne Divided

Ghazni, 997 CE – The Beginning of a Civil War

The sky above Ghazni was a dull gray, as if mourning the loss of its greatest ruler. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense as the city gathered outside the royal palace. Sabuktigin, the mighty Sultan of Ghazni, was dead.

Inside the palace, the grand hall was silent except for the murmur of courtiers and nobles, who stood in clusters, whispering about what was to come.

At the front of the chamber, seated on the throne of Ghazni, was Ismail ibn Sabuktigin. His young face was tense, his fingers gripping the armrests. Beside him stood his most trusted advisor, Vizier Abu'l-Abbas Isfaraini, who had orchestrated his ascension.

The heavy doors at the end of the hall burst open.

Mahmud ibn Sabuktigin entered, clad in armor, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He was not here to bow.

The courtiers stepped aside, clearing a path for him as he strode forward, his piercing gaze locked onto Ismail.

Mahmud's voice was steady, though it carried the weight of thunder. "You sit on a throne that does not belong to you."

Ismail lifted his chin, forcing himself to appear calm. "Father named me his heir."

Mahmud scoffed. "Father was dying. He was surrounded by those who wished to weaken Ghazni. They chose you because they feared me."

A ripple of unease spread through the hall. The nobles exchanged nervous glances. They all knew the truth—Mahmud was the rightful ruler, the warrior who had won battles alongside his father.

The vizier stepped forward. "Prince Mahmud, you have no claim here. The Sultan has been chosen. You may kneel before him, or you may leave Ghazni in peace."

Mahmud's jaw clenched. His patience was wearing thin.

"Leave Ghazni?" he repeated, his voice laced with mockery. He turned his gaze to the assembled nobles. "Who among you believes that Ghazni is safer under Ismail than under me?"

A few of the older nobles shifted uncomfortably, but none spoke.

Ismail's face darkened. "I will not tolerate treason, Mahmud."

Mahmud stepped closer to the throne. "And I will not tolerate a weak ruler leading my people."

Ismail's guards stepped forward, their hands resting on their swords.

The room was on the brink of war.

But before steel could be drawn, an elderly noble, Khwaja Suleiman, raised a hand. "Enough!" His voice echoed through the chamber.

The tension broke for a moment as all eyes turned toward him.

Suleiman continued. "We cannot afford bloodshed within these walls. If there is a dispute, let it be settled as warriors, not as brothers killing each other in their father's court."

Mahmud's lips curled into a smirk. "A fair proposal." He turned to Ismail. "Let us take this to the battlefield. The sword shall decide who is the true Sultan."

Ismail hesitated, his grip tightening on the throne's armrests.

The vizier whispered in his ear, "You have the palace guards. Crush him now."

But Ismail knew Mahmud had the army. And an open confrontation in the palace might turn the nobles against him.

So, he forced a smile. "Very well. We shall meet on the battlefield."

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The Army Divides

That night, Ghazni was no longer one kingdom—it was two.

In the eastern barracks, Mahmud's loyal generals gathered in his tent. Malik Ayaz, Arsalan, and General Ameer Hassan studied a map spread across the table.

Malik Ayaz, ever the strategist, pointed at the city gates. "Ismail controls the palace, but we control the soldiers. If we move swiftly, we can force him to surrender."

Mahmud shook his head. "No. I want him to march out and face me. If I take the city by force, some will claim I stole the throne. I need him to be the one who loses."

Arsalan frowned. "Then we must make him believe he has a chance."

Mahmud smiled. "Exactly."

The next morning, messengers rode through Ghazni, declaring that Mahmud had challenged Ismail to battle. The news spread like wildfire, and supporters from the outer provinces began flocking to Mahmud's camp.

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The Battlefield of Charkh

The battlefield was set near the plains of Charkh, where rolling hills met a river that gleamed under the rising sun.

On one side, Mahmud's forces stood in disciplined ranks, cavalry lined in perfect formation. His warhorse, Asad, pawed at the ground impatiently.

On the other, Ismail's forces, mostly palace guards and newly conscripted soldiers, stood in a less organized formation.

Ismail sat atop a white stallion, his face pale. He had never led an army before.

Mahmud rode forward, his armor gleaming. "There is still time to surrender, Ismail."

Ismail's eyes burned with pride and fear. "You may win this battle, brother, but you will never have my loyalty."

Mahmud sighed. "Then let us begin."

With a shout, Mahmud raised his sword.

The battle erupted.

Mahmud's cavalry charged, their spears lowered like a wall of death. Ismail's front lines shattered upon impact, men falling beneath the force of warhorses.

Arrows whistled through the air, and Mahmud's forces cut down their enemies with precision.

Within an hour, Ismail's army was crumbling.

"Fall back!" Ismail shouted, but it was too late. His men were fleeing, deserting him on the battlefield.

Seeing no other choice, Ismail turned his horse and rode for the city gates.

But Mahmud was faster.

With a roar, he spurred his horse forward. His blade clashed against Ismail's as their horses galloped side by side.

Ismail's sword trembled under Mahmud's strength. "Brother, don't do this—"

Mahmud knocked the sword from his hand. "You lost."

Guards seized Ismail as he fell from his horse.

The battle was over.

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A Throne Reclaimed

Days later, Mahmud entered Ghazni's palace. The throne was empty.

He turned to his generals. "Let it be known—Ghazni is no longer divided."

The nobles, including those who had once sided with Ismail, knelt before him.

Mahmud's gaze fell upon Ismail, now imprisoned in the palace dungeon.

His brother met his eyes. "Kill me, then."

Mahmud shook his head. "I do not need to."

Ismail's face twisted in confusion. "You mean to let me live?"

Mahmud stepped closer. "You will live—but in chains. You will watch as I rule what you could not."

He turned away, leaving his brother to his fate.

And so, the throne of Ghazni was his.

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End of Chapter 4