Excerpt
PROLOGUE THE MONGOLS HAD already burned Baghdad once. They drowned its libraries in ink. They stacked the streets with corpses. They broke the caliphate. But they didn’t finish the job. That was left to Timur. They called him Tamerlane in the West. A name twisted from “Timur the Lame,” the warlord who walked with a limp and conquered like a god. He wasn’t a Mongol by blood, but he wore Genghis Khan’s legacy like armor. He took the old empire’s bones and refashioned them into something even darker. In 1401, he rode into Baghdad. Not to sack it. To obliterate it. The resistance was fierce. For a solid five minutes. Timur crushed it with his usual method: surround, starve, terrify, then...