Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (23 page)

“But
enough
of
talk,”
he
said.
“You
must
rest
and
refresh
yourselves,
for
tonight
we
feast
in
welcome
of
our
friends
and
tomorrow
we
can,
perhaps,
talk
further.

“Indeed,”
replied
the
Ambassador,
gracefully
accepting
the
inevitable
and
also
rising
to
his
feet.
“I
wonder,
I
know
it’s
a
little
late
in
the
season,
but
we
have
heard
much
of
the
good
hunting
in
your
country.
Would
it
be
possible
for
some
of
your
warriors
to
accompany
some
of
our
younger
members
on
such
a
hunt?
I
know
they
would
greatly
enjoy
the
freedom
it
would
offer,
after
so
long
being
restricted
to
the
demands
of
our
caravan.”
Hiding
their
surprise,
the
Narashi
regents
agreed
and
each
party
left
to
both
privately
discuss
the
meeting
and
to
prepare
for
the
night’s
festivities.

Chapter
Eleven

Anyone
observing
the
laughing,
joyous
party
racing
on
priceless
horses
across
the
desert’s
flat,
gravelly
surface,
their
sleek
hunting
dogs
easily
keeping
pace,
would
not
have
known
that
there
was
a
war
to
the
death
being
fought
in
similar
deserts
not
far
away.
But
the
early
morning
air
was
fresh,
the
party
were
young
and
freedom
had
its
own
exhilarating
taste
after
the
confines
of
the
town,
so
they
raced
each
other
in
laughing
competition,
their
falcons
left
safely
with
their
slaves
and
attendants
to
follow
on
at
a
slower,
safer,
pace.

Ahead
of
them
all
was
Talal,
pushing
his
silvery
horse
ever
faster
in
his
bid
to
beat
his
young
uncle
for
the
first
time
in
their
friendly
rivalry.
The
galloping
riders
were
only
yards
from
their
target,
an
isolated
patch
of
scrub,
when
he
felt,
rather
than
heard,
a
presence
near
his
left
shoulder
and
he
hurriedly
glanced
around
in
irritation.
It
was
Nasir,
a
grin
of
triumph
on
his
face
as
he
flashed
past
his
annoyed
nephew
on
his
way
to
claim
the
prize.

Nasir’s
own
victory
smile
disappeared
rapidly,
however,
as
he
himself
felt
the
wind
of
an
approaching
presence
and
he
glanced
to
his
side
just
in
time
to
see
Kerim
pull
level
and
then,
in
the
last
yards,
pull
ahead
and
reach
the
patch
of
scrub
ahead
of
them
all.

“An
excellent
ride,
my
friend!”
shouted
the
young
officer,
now
dressed
in
the
white
flowing
robes
of
his
hosts,
as
he
reined
in
his
sweating
mount
and
leant
down
to
pat
it’s
neck
affectionately,
as
the
others
reached
him.

“It
was,
until
the
last
few
paces!”
grunted
Nasir,
his
own
spirits
returning
as
he
saw
his
nephew
wearing
a
very
un-ruler
like
scowl.

“Hey,
nephew,
why
the
scowl?
Don’t
worry,
you’ll
beat
me
next
time!”

“That’s
what
you
said
last
time!”
retorted
Talal,
his
own
good
nature
and
high
spirits
returning
in
the
sheer
joy
of
being
away
from
the
town’s
restraints.
And,
after
all,
he
reflected,
Nasir
had
himself
been
beaten,
so
the
morning
wasn’t
totally
without
pleasure.

“You
ride
well,
Captain,”
he
said
courteously,
turning
to
the
young
Turkish
officer.

“I
could
say
it
was
a
host’s
duty
to
let
him
be
victorious,
hence
his
win,”
murmured
Nasir

“I
would
feel
insulted
if
that
were
so!”
rejoined
Kerim.

“I
know.
That’s
why
I
said
it!”
rejoined
Nasir
and
they
both
burst
into
laughter.

Talal
watching
them,
was
amazed
at
their
camaraderie.
They
were
obviously
the
closest
of
friends,
and
yet
family
history
told
him
they
had
known
each
other
for
only
a
few
hours
some
three
years
previously.
Of
course,
he
thought,
the
circumstances
in
which
they’d
met
and
in
which
that
friendship
was
formed,
were
somewhat
stressful,
and
the
occasion
of
the
type
that
marked
men,
and
bred
a
closeness
not
otherwise
obtained.
Nonetheless
his
gaze
had
more
than
a
hint
of
wistfulness,
as
the
party
awaited
the
arrival
of
their
attendants
and
the
camels
carrying
the
precious
falcons,
the
reason
for
the
morning’s
outing.
Despite
his
youth
and
friendly
nature,
he
had,
since
his
elevation
to
his
father’s
throne,
found
it
hard
to
make
friends.
The
only
ones
he
had
were
from
before
his
becoming
ruler
and
even
those
now
felt
a
little
reserve
in
his
presence,
treated
him
with
more
respect
and
less
open
affection.
Only
his
brothers
and
sisters
ignored
his
new
rank
and
continued
to
treat
him
as
a
much
loved
older
sibling.

Though
respect
would
sometimes
be
welcome,
thought
Talal,
ruefully
rubbing
the
back
of
his
head,
still
sore
from
where
Khalid,
his
six
year
old
half-brother,
had
hit
him
with
a
stick
and
run
off
laughing.

He’d
already
learned
the
first
lesson
of
ruling: that
it
was
a
lonely
eminence
and
it
was
one
he
was
not
yet
entirely
sure
he
wanted.
He
was
also
far
from
sure
that
he
had
his
father’s – or
mother’s – absolutely
natural
drive
for
power,
almost
regardless
of
the
consequences
of
that
drive.