Part XVII
Shouted obscenities and threats heralded the arrival of the Medjai and the Tuareg in camp. The two factions faced one another as chaos ensued and small pockets of fighting broke out, the years of hatred between the two nations bubbling over.
It took the joint efforts of Berin, Jameel, Drevick and Yousef to successfully quell the hostility, their united stand most likely shocking the combatants. Reluctantly a temporary peace was restored but was occasionally tested when tempers flared and accusations were leveled.
The concern for the injured Medjai prompted Drevick to show Berin that he had every intention of honoring the pact between their people. He worked tirelessly to help construct the carriers for the wounded, and supervised those with critical injuries to be taken first.
Only Yousef was aware of the mixed emotions that he kept inside. He was shocked when he had learned that his father had decided to help and had sent the additional men. And he was sad to learn that the young boy had paid for his errand with his life. Feelings were not a luxury to be indulged in at the moment, and Drevick stoically continued helping the Medjai. The only sign of his inner turmoil was the clenching of his jaw.
Berin and Jameel welcomed their brethren with tremulous relief; both warriors would not be satisfied until Jericho, Dharr, Emir and Madjy were out danger and resting within the city walls.
Working together with the men who were once believed to be the enemy, Berin and Jameel assisted Drevick and Yousef in whatever capacity was needed. They unwittingly earned the grudging respect of the other Tuareg by their selfless actions and conduct; the honor of the Medjai ran true and deep.
When the majority of the Medjai had been taken away, a small amount of comical relief came when Makin decided to taunt a Tuareg. They had secured the last of the carriers and were walking back to their horses, exchanging good natured insults and barbs.
Makin was a young but formidable warrior, his size and power almost comparable to Berin's. It was whispered within the warrior sect that someday Makin's strength would surpass even the legendary Kedar, commander of the tribe of the First. Standing several inches over six feet in height, the gods had not only blessed Makin with his great size, but a bizarre sense of humor as well.
"If you wish to talk about reach, then let us discuss the scimitar." Makin grinned at the Tuareg warrior, and held out his blade, the tip pointed at the man's chest.
The Tuareg snorted and waved off Makin's suggestion. "A true warrior does not need to hide behind his weapon. He should embrace the opportunity to come face to face with his enemy."
"And receive a dagger in his stomach as his reward." Sharif spoke up, his amber colored eyes clouded with a distant memory. The quietly intense and handsome young warrior was best friends with Makin and Solman; the three of them had trained together prior to their induction into the warrior sect.
"We should have a sparring session at a neutral meeting place in the desert," Makin suggested and looked at the Tuareg to see if he was interested. "I promise not to hurt you too much."
"Mount up," Berin interrupted before the Tuareg could scoff at Makin's comment. While he was secretly amused by younger warrior's antics, he was more than anxious to return to the citadel. A disturbing feeling had suddenly swept over him and with it came a strong sense of dread that Nabil and Reyhan were in danger.
"May you be granted a safe journey home," Drevick said and walked towards Berin's horse. "For obvious reasons I will stay here, but ask that you keep me informed..."
Suddenly a spear whistled through the air and buried itself deep within the chest of Berin's horse; the animal screamed and toppled over to one side. Its death throes had trapped Berin underneath it and as he struggled to free himself, Makin and Jameel rushed over to help him.
Drevick shouted his battle cry as another spear sliced through the darkness, and he pulled his weapon free. He spun around to face the threat and his eyes widened in horror when he saw the Hunud swarming over what he had hoped would have been his protection.
The outcroppings of boulders did little to stem the black tide of evil that was rolling towards him.
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It was often noted, with a certain amount of fond amusement that upon meeting Commander al Fa'ud one needed to be prepared to take on the brunt of the conversation. Nabil had a tendency, as observed by his fellow warrior brothers, of withdrawing from the exchange until he was required to respond. Those closest to him believed that the habit resulted from the years he had spent living on the street, fighting for survival.
Ardeth and Kedar had surmised that it was a tactic designed to help Nabil observe a person and enable him to differentiate if they were friend or foe.
As the ride to the Rwalla-Hunud stronghold progressed, Nabil withdrew from the sporadic conversation, his gaze constantly skimming over the vast desert landscape. His self imposed reverie wasn't prompted by the need to observe and judge but by the intense fear that Reyhan would die.
Ardeth, Kedar, Zaki and Haytham took turns riding alongside Nabil. As much as he longed to be left to his thoughts, their presence was both comforting and familiar, reaffirming the bond between them.
Nabil glanced up at the moon and realized it had reached its full berth. Were they too late?
"Does anyone feel that?" Haytham's hoarse whisper broke the tense silence that had fallen over the warriors.
Nabil gave the signal to stop but had trouble controlling his skittish mount. An unnatural stillness had fallen over the land and his horse nervously sidestepped, bobbing its head in agitation.
"Look towards the north," Ardeth instructed, his face a grim mask as he struggled to bring his horse under control.
A large bright orange glow sputtered and flared to life, as red and yellow flames spiked up into the night sky. The deep bass of a drum rolled out across the sands, its throbbing tone sounding ominous and savage. The steady and sinister cadence flooded the senses of all the riders – something dark and evil was reaching across the land.
"What does this mean?" Haytham asked. Each time the drums sounded, it felt as if his heartbeat stuttered in his chest.
"They are about to start the ceremony," Uthmann-Dunoud replied.
"It is time," Nabil announced and turned to his saddlebags, pulling out a large brown robe.
Quickly, the riders disguised themselves and took great care in making certain Uthmann-Dunoud's identity was concealed. The warriors pulled up their face coverings, and then wrapped an additional swath of fabric to ensure that their sacred marks were undistinguishable.
Satisfied that they appeared to be traveling horsemen from an unknown tribe, Nabil gave the command to ride.
With the steady drumbeats as their companion, the riders kicked their horses into a run and galloped towards what appeared to be hell incarnate.
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"Pull!" Yousef shouted at Makin and Drevick above the din of battle. His sword was a slivery blur as he swung around and blocked a Hunud from attacking Sharif. He grunted from the impact, amazed at the strength of the woman, and kicked out with his foot, hitting her in the chest.
The Hunud cursed and stumbled back a few paces, directly into the path of Jameel's blade as it whistled through the air. Her life ended a few moments later and she fell to the maroon colored ground.
Makin and Drevick groaned in unison as they struggled to pull Berin free from the weight of his dead horse. Berin's leg was trapped underneath but with the help of the others, he was slowly gaining his freedom, inch by torturous inch.
"Have you...ever considered losing...weight, ya saHib?" Makin groaned as he and Drevick pulled on Berin. He caught Drevick's look of disbelief from his question and gave the Tuareg a faint smile. "Well he does feel heavier."
"Pull for the love of Allah...stop chattering and just pull, I am almost free," Berin growled as he felt the circulation rush back into his leg, poking him like sharp pins and needles. He placed his large hands against the saddle and when he felt Makin and Drevick tug on him again, he shoved the carcass as hard as he could.
The muscles in Makin's arms swelled from the effort and Drevick uttered a few dark curses as they continued Berin's extraction. Suddenly he and Drevick lost their footing in the soft sand when Berin heaved the horse away from him; they tumbled backwards and into the melee.
Years of training propelled Makin to roll to the side just as a Hunud drove her spear into the spot where his head had been. With a fluid, animal-like grace he pulled his scimitar free and came to his feet, blocking the well thrown spear and deflecting it.
Drevick narrowly missed getting decapitated and he rolled to the other side, his own weapon announcing its freedom with a resounding metallic ring. He came to his knees and brought his sword over his head to parry a thrust, then dove forward. He twisted around and viciously cut his attacker's ankle, effectively crippling her; once she was down he quickly ended her life.
Drevick took a few precious moments to catch his breath, unaware that death stalked him from one side.
"Now is not the time to...lie down, Tuareg," Sharif panted as he grabbed Drevick's arm and pulled him to his feet. "Get up and fight!"
Drevick called upon the last reserves of his strength and met the oncoming charge of a Hunud with his battle cry. As he parried her attack, the realization that the enemy could win this fight began to wear on him. The fear of dying a needless death weighed heavily upon him, and his defenses weakened, earning him a deep gash on his arm.
The pain snapped Drevick out of his stupor and he renewed his fight with enthusiastic vigor. He would live to greet another day and most importantly of all, he would be with Reyhan again. He would see his friend and together they would mourn the loss of Tabari...together they would honor his memory.
The Hunud Drevick had been fighting finally fell but was quickly replaced by another. The young Tuareg attacked his new opponent, and ignored the warm splashes of blood that spattered over him. He allowed himself to dream of the days when he was a young boy. And of the games they used to play.
A burning pain erupted in his side and Drevick looked down in amazement to see a spear partially imbedded in his body. He swayed unsteadily as he heard Sharif shouting his name over the roaring in his ears.
Determined to fight until the end, Drevick raised his sword and awkwardly charged the Hunud, deriving a small amount of pleasure from the surprised look on her face.
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Berin slowly crawled away from the horse as instinct prompted him to unsheathe his blade; he raised it in time to stop a Hunud's spear from stabbing him in the chest. His massive arm bulged from the strain as he climbed to his feet and came face to face with the Hunud. His hands tightened around the hilt of the blade as it held the spear at bay. They did a parody of a dance, each seeking each other's strengths and weaknesses.
"Honored Second," the helmeted Hunud hissed in acknowledgement. She applied pressure to the spear and inwardly cringed when the warrior's blade didn't waver.
"qaT'a min yaha," Berin growled in response. He shut out the sounds of the battle raging around him and tested a theory of his own. He lowered his scimitar and saw that the tip of the spear dipped.
"Prepare to die," Suleyman-Tansu screamed. She whipped her spear away from the scimitar and swung it around her waist. She changed hands and lunged forward just as it shot out from her body, propelled by her momentum.
Berin easily blocked the spear with one swipe of his blade; he batted it down to the ground and spun around, smacking the lower portion of the Hunud's helmet.
Suleyman-Tansu flew backwards from the blow and fell on her back; she flipped over on to her feet, pulling out her sword. She blinked in amazement when she saw Berin holding her spear in one large hand.
"Tsk. Playing with sticks is a child's game," Berin admonished and shook his head. He dropped one end of the spear to the ground and stepped on it, easily snapping it in two.
"I will kill you and send your soul to hell!" Suleyman-Tansu shouted, incensed by the casual display of power by the Medjai.
Berin gestured her forward with a supercilious wave of his hand. "You are welcome to try, little girl," he replied. His voice rolled up from deep within his chest, sounding very much like the roar of a lion.
Suleyman-Tansu was blinded by rage and rushed Berin as all strategic thoughts of fighting escaped from her mind. She gave her battle cry as she brought her sword up for the killing blow, her arrogance lending her false confidence.
Berin braced himself for the attack as his dark eyes swept over the oncoming Hunud, seeking an opening. He waited until she was almost on top of him and ducked beneath her attack, slamming his elbow in her lower back. He whirled around as she twisted her body and regained her footing.
Suleyman-Tansu attacked him again and held her blade low; she caught him around the waist and felt a moment's triumph when she heard his startled grunt. They fell to the ground in a tangled heap of arms and legs, wrestling each other for dominance. Deciding to weigh the outcome of this fight in her favor, Suleyman-Tansu's thumb pressed on a small button hidden at the base of her sword handle. A long narrow spike instantly emerged and before the warrior could defend himself, she plunged it deep into his shoulder.
Berin retaliated and smashed his fist into the Hunud's face, feeling a small amount of satisfaction when he felt bones crunch. The reluctance to fight her with all of his skill as a warrior had held him at bay, since essentially he was fighting a woman. The Medjai treated their women with the utmost respect and honor; those qualities vanished when she began to fight unfairly.
With a roar, Berin threw Suleyman-Tansu away from him and he climbed to his feet, determined to end their battle. Ignoring the blood streaming down his arm, Berin stalked the dazed Hunud like a predator, his dark eyes never leaving her face as he closed in for the kill.
Suleyman-Tansu gripped her sword and stood her ground, defiant in the face of death. Foolishly she charged the Medjai, and her battle cry rang through the air; it changed into a death rattle several moments later.
Berin yanked his scimitar free from the Hunud's throat and dispassionately watched as she crumpled to the ground. He bent over the body and slowly wiped his blade clean. "That was for Reyhan," he murmured.
Startled by the sudden quiet, Berin looked up and was startled to find he was one of the few survivors left standing. His weary gaze swept over the camp as he mentally calculated the casualties, both Medjai and Tuareg. He sheathed his scimitar and trudged forward, starting the bleak process of checking for survivors.
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Translation: qaT'a min yaha - piece of shit
Da shoutouts:
Nakhti – A thousand thank you's for catching up with my humble story and since you were the 100th reviewer, a treat is arriving in the mail. ;-) You've made so many great observations and asked questions that in order to answer them, I shall have to email you. However I will touch on one thing – Suleyman-Tansu is a Rwalla-Hunud, no more, no less. After reading this chapter, I guess it's pretty obvious where her loyalties lie. And I have to be honest, credit goes to my beta Serena for "The dark starry sky, a black velvet canopy studded with a million diamonds..." She took a mass of jumbled words and changed them into something beautiful and fitting. Thanks for reading and if you need some inspiration for HN, let me know and I'll think of something. ;-)
Karri – So you like Reyhan, eh? I may play rough with my characters but take a small measure of comfort in knowing he will make it through this particular adventure...somewhat...erm, somehow. LOL Thanks for reading.
Dawn369 – Actually I'm taking Nakhti's advice from one of her reviews about not killing off something/someone evil. The Hunud are a blood thirsty, cruel, and power-hungry matriarchate nation – they will rise again to wreck havoc, trust me. I'm glad you like the other aspects of Berin, but have to ask that after reading this chapter, you're glad he's the fierce warrior, yes? ;-)
The Kidd Mdd – "It is my hope that Berin gores that she-devil Suleyman with her own spear! Yeah!:-)" Ask and ye shall receive...LOL Would you say that she got what she deserved? Check your seat belt, we haven't even hit the first plummet yet but I really do appreciate your reading. Thanks so much! ;-)