CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
Suleyman, Ibrahim and Davud slid down a steep embankment in the pouring rain as the bombs exploded throughout the camp above them. Janissaries clashed with Viennese saboteurs that had crept amongst the pavilions under the cover of night. Suleyman stumbled, his bruised leg collapsing over a rocky outcrop. Davud reached out to steady him, but it was Ibrahim whose arms the Sultan fell into, both rolling down the muddy slope and into a heap at the bottom. The Itchoglan skidded down to their side.
“We don’t have our weapons,” Suleyman gasped in pain as he clenched his leg with both his hands.
The Grand Vizier quickly studied the scene and then, grabbing both Davud’s and Suleyman’s hands, lifted them to their feet. The Itchoglan slipped his hands under the Sultan’s armpits—
