Preparations

Their arrival, in four smaller groups spaced well apart, was an operation of stealth and discretion. Rana knew so many of the soldiers that went ahead, many of them had been kind to her and treated her with great gentleness back at the main camp, but now rode silently past her horse with hardly a glance.

The entire settling of the army, broken into two base camps for ease of movement, took only an hour or so. Salahuddin himself went with the foremost portion of the army, to better prepare them for the battle they were about to face. Mullah Khaled and Nasir remained with those behind, and they had been charged with the task of readying the second force for their role in the siege Rana did not understand the tactics of war - she was better suited to following commands than to giving them, and so she busied herself with helping the others to set up the small dun-colored tents in stark rows beneath the sheltering swell of the scrub forest. It took very little time, and when she was done she slipped obediently into the tent set aside for Nasir, sitting down with her back to his bunk and closing her eyes.

From the sound of the scouting responsibilities and the cold feeling that caressed the inside of her stomach, she would guess that the task her Master wished Rashid to do was a very dangerous one indeed.

"Insh'allah." she whispered. If God wills it.

Twenty minutes later the tent flap was pushed aside and Nasir stepped in out of the harsh light. He looked wordlessly down at her, his hand on the hilt of his sword, back lit and awesome and slightly intimidating. Rana rose to her feet and removed her helmet, ready and willing to obey the commands she knew were about to come.

Nasir carefully closed the tent and sat down on a low stool, and with a deep sigh began to speak.

"Silence and stealth will be your watchwords. If you are caught in this you will suffer, and your suffering will break our master's heart...not to mention mine. Having said this, I will now give you your task. When the battle begins this night in earnest, you will move ahead of the second force to the very base of the north wall. There is a spire of rock close to the wall, and this you must climb without sound. When you have reached the topmost portion you will make a leap of several feet to the edge of the wall. If you should miss your mark, you will plummet to the base of the wall and in all probability injure yourself. So do not."

Rana bit back a most unbecoming comment and lowered her gaze.

"When you have gained the wall, you will descend the inner face and see what we cannot. The positions of the guards, the thickness of the wall, the places where there are braces set against the wooden doors. Look for weaknesses and strengths. And when you have seen all that you can, you are to return to me and whisper what it is you found. I will then relay the message to Salahuddin. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord. Ana afham."

"Kneel here at my feet."

"Iwa."

She dropped to her knees, staring at the shining bronze tops of his boots, and a moment later felt the warm heaviness of his hand on her head.

"May Allah bless and protect this child. May her steps be swift and quiet as a kitten's, and may her eyes pierce the dark to better serve our objective and ultimately Your will."

Rana closed her eyes, daring to lean a little into his touch. Was it her imagination, or did he shiver slightly? Was it fear for her?

"Keep her close to Your heart, Lord, as we keep her close to ours. In the name of God the merciful, the mighty, protector of the world, I ask protection now for this young warrior. Amin."

"Amin." Rana echoed faintly. She was terrified and excited beyond words, and could scarcely wait to begin the task that could very well lead them to victory, and might even gain Nasir's respect in the process.

She looked up at him, hoping to see something in his eyes that she didn't even dare put a name to in her mind.

And for a moment, it was there.

He touched her face, and it was not the touch of a mentor to his young student. It was the touch a man gives a woman for whom he has desire.

"Nasir? I wish to have words with you." someone spoke from the other side of the tent flap.

It was Mullah Khaled. He was forever springing in unnanounced upon Nasir.

Rana pulled back very swiftly, reaching for her helmet. Her heart was pounding very hard in her chest, and it was difficult to catch her breath. Nasir rose to his feet and ushered her into a corner.

"Sharpen my blade." he instructed, and she fell to the task with a will. A moment later the mullah entered, long black robes coated with dust from their journey. He spared the small soldier in the corner hardly a glance, as was certainly the hope of both Nasir and Rana.

"Once we have taken the city, what is to stop us from adding to the forces swiftly and marching into al-Quds within the next few months?" Khaled asked without preamble. Nasir sighed, gesturing to a chair for his guest.

"You know that our master has an agenda of his own that does not include such hasty moves. He wishes to unite all of the Muslim lands -"

"Which he could do more effectively with a victory of this size to his name! Too long have we waited while our holy places are defiled."

"I agree. I completely agree with your position, and especially with your passion for the furtherance of Islam. But I would urge you to have faith in Salahuddin."

"My faith lies only with Allah."

Nasir closed his eyes, nodding wearily. He and Khaled had not always seen eye-to-eye, but they never had trouble being friends despite this. While the mullah was hot-blooded and fiery, Nasir tended to be calmer and more of a born second in command. He believed deeply in the abilities of Salahuddin, and would grimly follow him to hell and back if necessary.

"You should not be over-hard on the man you have chosen to follow, my friend."

"This is not over-hard in the slightest. I have not even begun to - "

Nasir put his hand on Khaled's shoulder, stopping him.

"You are nervous." he observed.

Khaled sighed, nodding. He was weary of the wait also, and the past few months in particular had been difficult. His father had died, leaving it up to he himself as the eldest son to care financially for his mother and his five sisters, all of whom were unmarried.

"My mother is sending me a wife. She thinks that I have been neglecting my deen in keeping single. Some young village girl named Zainab whom I have never met. I hope that she will not be a burden."

"May she be a blessing to you, my friend." Nasir smiled inwardly at the idea of his solemn companion taking a wife. He glanced over at Rana, her head still bowed to her task.

"What think you of Rana the Bedouin?"

Khaled fixed his dark eyes on the ceiling of the tent, his expression grave.

"She is headstrong and undisciplined, and I pity the man to whom she is given. He will have quite a trying time with the girl."

"You walk the border of cruelty at times, my friend."

"A land we all traverse at need, Nasir. What our master sees in Rana is beyond me. I had thought that he meant to make of her a wife in the beginning, but perhaps he too was put off by her willful nature and bloodthirsty leanings."

Rana tensed, tears filling her eyes at the harsh words of the mullah. It took every ounce of self-discipline in her to keep from raising her head, from looking him in the eye and telling him what she felt. Why would Nasir lead him into such a conversation, knowing that she was sitting right there? Was this little window into the mind of Khaled really worth the pain it caused her?

Nasir must have guessed at her discomfort, for he cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"This Zainab...do you know much of her?"

"Only that she is strong and beautiful. My mother tells me that she has been something of a celebrity in the village. Many men have sought her father's permission to marry her, but he was determined that only a holy man would be given the gift of her purity. Her father died suddenly, before he could select a husband. My mother took one look at her and made the arrangements herself with the girl's mother."

"Ah. You are indeed blessed, my friend. Loneliness has sharpened your tongue these past few years. Perhaps the kiss of a fresh young girl will sweeten it once again."

"You amuse no one with your quips, Nasir." Khaled said darkly, and stood up to leave.

Nasir suppressed a grin and offered the mullah his hand.

"Allah keep you, Khaled. I will join you soon."

"I still think we ought to march against the kafir bastards soon." And with that, he left, twitching the curtain shut behind him.

Rana looked up, tears sparkling her dark lashes.

"I did not realize that I brought him so much irritation." she said softly, and Nasir bent down to take his sword from her hands, pausing to run a finger across her cheek with fatherly tenderness.

"Do not take to heart what you have heard, little Rana. Khaled is irritated by everything during these uncertain and trying times."

"He sounded very angry."

"He doubts our master."

Rana's eyes became hard. "My Master is a powerful leader, and it is leaders who win wars. Is it not said that an army of sheep led by a lion would defeat an army of lions led by a sheep?"

Nasir threw back his head and laughed out loud at his.

"Allahu Akbar, little one! You have the wit of a politician. But watch yourself with talk like that. I do not think Khaled would take kindly to the implication that he is a sheep."

"If the wool fits..." Rana grumbled unhappily.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir."

Muslim armies are not like other armies. For one thing, they are wholly without fear in the fact of death, for no fate is more glorious than to fall in battle. For another, they move with a single-mindedness of purpose that utterly baffles the opposition. Brother to a brother, unmoving and noble and honorable and grim beneath the flapping green banners. They would fight until torn to pieces, Salahuddin always said, and afterwards the pieces would continue to fight.

Rana lay down nervously on the bedroll next to Nasir's to rest a bit before her task. She closed her eyes against the fading light, listening to the sounds of the first wave making ready to attack. A scant twenty feet from where she lay, her Master was meeting with some of his men. Rana could hear the soft, reassuring tone of his voice even though she could not make out the words.

She wanted to go to him and bury her face in his lap and beg his forgiveness for her incredible act of foolishness.

She wanted Mullah Khaled to be proud of her.

She wanted to be thought of as strong and beautiful like the village girl Zainab, instead of plain-looking and unruly.

But more than anything...Rana wanted to be something more than she was.

Somewhere beyond the next sand dune the Templars were tensely awaiting the next attack. Starving, dirty, exhausted...her woman's heart felt pity for them but was over-ruled by her anger at their presence. Infidels had no place and would never have a place in this land. They did not understand the delicate culture, the hard glittering edge of fearlessness that lay beneath a velvet covering of poetic words. It was a world of honor and discipline and vast unchanging love for Allah and for one another. The only time that the Qu'ran permitted war was in the event of danger for the Muslim way of life. Only when attacked were they allowed to fight back. The Prophet hated the sword, but wielded it when there was great need.

The Europeans had no idea at the start of this war what they would inspire, that much was plain.

Rana's mind drifted, and she closed her eyes.

In the blackness behind her lids she saw the bright sun shining down on the vast and terrible Muslim armies, their swords and spears glinting in the light. Green banners, with the name of Allah sewn in gold. There were the Syrians, grim and determined, and the Persians with their caramel-colored eyes and strong shoulders. Soft-spoken Egyptians, fierce and fearless Palestinians, Arabs from the Gulf region and from the North and from the East. They stood together, brothers under the hot sun, willing to die for the sake of the entire Islamic world. Jerusalem must never be lost. The Prophet, peace be upon him, had journeyed there long long ago by the will of God. It was a sacred place, and the infidels were defiling it with their presence. So what if Sayyidina Isa, Jesus as they called him, had died there? He was a wise and learned teacher, yes. But his message was incomplete. It took The Prophet to finish the tale.

In Rana's mind, the sand was whirling, whirling around the dusty feet of the Christian's prophet. His eyes were brown like all of his countrymen, not blue like in the paintings the Templars hung in their churches. And his hair and beard were dark and full of dust on the long road. He spoke quietly to the men who walked beside him, but Rana could not catch the words. In her dream, she stood by the side of the road ahead of the little party and watched them approach. Just a young girl, her hair wrapped in rough linen and her feet bare, unremarkable and unnoticed. She lowered her gaze, and the men drew parallel with her.

Silence.

The soft footsteps ceased, Sayyidina Isa paused and stood still on the lonely road, staring at the girl who could not look at him. All else faded away.

Something gentle, a hand on her head.

"Courage, little Muslima."

And she dared to look up at him for a moment.

'His eyes...' she thought, but there was a sudden rushing sound. The sand flew up all around them, and she fell to her knees in the roaring storm.

In panic, she clutched at his robes and buried her face in the homespun fabric.

Someone was shaking her gently.

Nasir.

"My lord? Is it time?" Rana asked, sitting up immediately. The tent was very dark and she was sweating beneath her clothing. Her hands were wrapped in a fold of Nasir's shirt, and with a stab of embarrassment she released him.

"Forgive me." she said, smoothing the wrinkles hastily. Nasir stayed her hand with his own and leaned closer so that she could make out the gleam of his eyes.

"It is time, Rashid. Are you ready?"

She drew a deep breath and nodded. Her racing heart stilled somewhat in the face of this, the moment of truth. Outside she could hear soft whispers as the second wave prepared itself, and off in the distance there was the unmistakable tragic opera of all-out battle.

Rana rose to her feet and reached for her shoes.

"My lord Nasir, may I ask of you a favor?"

"Name it."

"Pray for me." she whispered. Nasir stood as well, and gently took her face in his hands.

"I have not stopped praying for you from the first moment we met, little Rana." he replied, and stepped away abruptly before his touch could be misconstrued as wanton.

There were no more words. Rana-now-Rashid pulled on her helmet and followed Nasir from the tent. 'Death in battle is a blessing', she told herself. Brother to a brother. And one small sister who would not be left behind.