Part XVIII
"Berin!" Jameel shouted as he stood on top of one of the boulders. He waved his arms in the air and stopped a moment later when the exhausted sub commander turned his way.
"He is all right?" Makin asked. He stood below Jameel and had been helping Yousef staunch the flow of blood from Drevick's side.
Jameel nodded and then disappeared down the other side a moment later, determined to help Berin whether he wanted it or not.
Makin went back and knelt down on the other side of Drevick, watching as Yousef tied the ends of the bandage. "Shukran to your men for turning around and coming back to help us after the Hunud attacked," he said.
Yousef shook his head and met Makin's dark gaze with his own worried one. "It is I who should give my thanks to you for saving Drevick's life."
Makin shrugged off Yousef's appreciation when an idea suddenly inspired him. "Would you be interested in having a sparring session someday soon?" he asked with a grin.
"Ya saHib," Sharif called out. "We must leave at once. Ardeth and Nabil have most likely reached the Hunud encampment by now and will need our assistance."
Yousef blinked in surprise. "You are riding into the enemy's camp?"
Makin nodded his head and stood up, his hand resting on the hilt of his scimitar. "And if we are fortunate, we will engage the Hunud and distract them long enough for Nabil to rescue Reyhan."
"Then allow me to show my gratitude for your aid," Yousef said as he stood up. He signaled to a nearby group of mounted Tuareg and the warriors immediately reached back into their saddle bags, producing small curved black horns.
They guided their horses into a circle and lifted the horns to their lips, so that the call went out on the wind and to all points of the compass. As Jameel and Berin joined the group, the unique sound carried over dune and valley, across the plains and mountains. It skipped across the land, and heralded the Tuareg to come join their brothers.
"Never let it be said that Tuareg do not repay a kindness," Yousef said with a slight bow as the horns continued to sound. He looked at Berin and frowned in concern noticing the dark stain that was slowly spreading across his shoulder. "You are welcome to ride back to our nearest village so that a healer can tend to your shoulder."
"I will take Drevick," Berin murmured, and knew that he had surprised everyone with his declaration. Too weary to care about the opinions of others, he was compelled to act on what he believed was the admirable thing to do. To carry the young tenacious Tuareg from the battlefield and deliver him to the safety of his village was an act of honor and respect.
"They are coming!" one of the riders shouted as the distinct sound of a horn's response drifted back to them on the wind.
Yousef walked over to Sharif and watched as Berin was helped onto a horse, and then given the limp body of Drevick. "The pact between our people is still binding; Drevick would not want our truce destroyed so easily by a Hunud spear."
Sharif bowed to Yousef and gestured for the Medjai to mount their horses. "Your generosity will not go unnoticed," he said.
"If you're ever interested in sparring..." Makin called as he climbed into the saddle.
Yousef blinked in surprise from the young Medjai's offer and looked at Sharif. "Is he always like this?" he asked.
Sharif snorted. "You have no idea."
----------
Bathed in the ethereal light of the moon, eight riders sat on the crest of a small ridge that overlooked the Rwalla-Hunud encampment and stared in disbelief. Hundreds of small fires dotted the landscape that surrounded the horseshoe shaped area, throwing grotesque shadows on the ground as the Hunud celebrated the imminent death of a Medjai.
Nabil believed he felt the earth rumble beneath him as hundreds of war spears hit the ground in perfect unison with the drums; soft, maniacal chanting added to the oppressive evil that hung heavily in the night air. The Hunud were in a frenzied state as they moved about, the red hand symbol winking evilly in the moonlight.
The crowd gathered in front of a platform rolled and seethed as if one entity. Thousands of black armored and partially clad bodies twirled and gyrated to the drum beat; lithe, strong and sinuous, they moved with voracious ease. What skin was exposed shone like burnt copper in the firelight as long, wild hair whipped around as the dancing increased.
"Kill...kill...kill...kill," the mob chanted as one.
"maHbub Allah," Ardeth murmured as his gaze swept over the area, noting its strategic strengths and weaknesses. He shook his head in amazement and disbelief when he realized he never knew that the Hunud had grown so powerful.
"Nabil," Kedar called out, his voice hoarse with anger mingled with grief. He reached over and placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "I have located Reyhan and he is..."
"Oh Allah," Nabil whispered and looked to where Kedar was pointing, his heart shattering from the belief that he had failed his brother.
Reyhan's battered and bleeding body hung limply from the ropes that bound him to a large wooden cross that had been set up in front of a ceremonial platform. Riders were circling around the makeshift arena and their shrill battle cries incited the crowd into a feverish pitch. They rode by Reyhan and took turns slashing at him with their spears; some passes drew blood and the Hunud howled with glee.
"The queen is holding court there." Uthmann-Dunoud pointed to the stand at the opposite end of the arena. "As custom, and in a show of power, she will be surrounded by her war captains and officers; in the place of honor to her right is Muhjah-Aji. When the time comes, address only the queen – your presence will certainly enrage the warriors but they will not harm you unless she commands it. Her insatiable curiosity will keep you alive for a few minutes I believe."
Nabil and Kedar exchanged worried glances from Uthmann-Dunoud's comments.
"We are the bringers of death and yet we have been touched by the light," Solman suddenly spoke up and gestured at the moon.
Haytham smiled faintly at Solman's observation, amazed by the unerring simplicity of the young man's words. "He is right you know," he said as he turned to the others, staring at each one until his gaze rested on Nabil. "Are you sure you're ready to go on the ride of a lifetime?"
Nabil blinked in surprise at Haytham's question. "Are you sure you wish to accompany me?" Nabil retaliated with a question of his own as his silvery gaze danced from one warrior to the next.
"And miss this adventure?" Zaki asked, his golden eyes sparkling with mirth. "Surely you jest," he chuckled as he adjusted his face covering.
"Ah, think of the story I will have to tell my grandchildren someday," Haytham said as he patted his horse's neck. "Run well and fast tonight, ya sahib," he murmured to the animal.
Kedar frowned at Haytham. "Grandchildren? You are not even married, ya sahib," he snorted.
"I will be someday," Haytham replied with a quick grin.
"Well, I always wanted to ride into the heart of the enemy but I had hoped to go in fighting, wielding my scimitar to create my path," Kedar sighed dramatically.
"Just bellow at everyone, ya ukh," Ardeth said with a slight smile. "Allah knows your lungs are strong enough."
"And you are intimidating," Kedar growled as he struggled not to laugh at the expression on Ardeth's face. "Aiwa, I heard from a reliable source about your adventure in Salma Aludra's kitchen."
"Jericho..." Ardeth muttered.
"It is unfortunate that no one has had the time to study the Hunud," Talib stated wistfully, his love of research prompting the statement.
Zaki chuckled and shook his head. "I do not know about you, ya sahib, but the only place I wish to study a Hunud is at the end of my scimitar."
Uthmann-Dunoud frowned in confusion as the lighthearted bickering continued and he found himself puzzled by their behavior. As he watched them check their weapons and make last minute adjustments to their saddles, he realized that the levity was a tool used to relieve the mounting tension.
"May Allah watch over us this night," Nabil said as he pulled up his face covering. He gave the signal a moment later and guided his horse down the incline, riding towards the black heart of the enemy whose malevolence almost rivaled He That Shall Not Be Named.
----------
It was a beautiful night for a ride.
The gentle breeze that blew in from the south carried within its currents the smell of the earth, of dry rich soil mingled with the delicate fragrance of flowers. It washed over Ardeth and melted into his being, saturating his senses. It gave a sense of comfort and balance, bringing forth childhood memories that were almost forgotten.
Ardeth willingly lost himself in the recollections of the past as they drew closer to the enemy, desperate to buffer the images of the celebrating Hunud with those of his loving ume and abu. An internal battle waged within the warrior as goodness and light gave way to darkness and evil.
Each drumbeat assaulted the senses, and each garish image of a Hunud warrior dancing in the firelight burned into his memory, and would linger for many nights to come.
As chieftain of his people, Ardeth had faced death countless times in the past as he fulfilled his eternal duty as a guardian of the desert. As long as there was strength in his body, and breath in his lungs, Ardeth would continue to fulfill the obligation bestowed upon the Medjai on the eve of the Hom Dai thousands of years ago.
It was this internal fortitude that Ardeth called upon as they neared the opening of the arena; the waves of astonishment morphing to hatred were tangible. His hand yearned to grip the hilt of his scimitar and pull it free, his warrior blood surging with the need for retribution.
The thin veneer of the civilized chieftain almost gave way to the bringer of death that lurked beneath the surface. Ardeth's heart wanted justice for what the Hunud had done to Reyhan; his heritage demanded a reckoning.
Instead, common sense prevailed for the moment and Ardeth barely stayed his hand, his temper simmering when he saw what they had done to Reyhan. He prayed for Allah to grant the Rwalla-Hunud mercy for he would certainly give none.
----------
The drums abruptly stopped beating and several young teenage girls ran over to Reyhan, their hands skimming over his body in a pitiless caress. Some of them crowed with delight and showed their reddened hands to the crowd, smiling as numerous piercing battle cries filled the air.
One of the girls placed a crude bowl at the base of the cross and then joined her companions as they ran off to one side. They chatted excitedly amongst themselves, speculating on who would be chosen to carry the bowl to the priestess that waited on the other side of the platform.
Queen Markunda-Taqwizult leaned back in her chair and dangled one hand over the side, idly toying with the bleached skull of a vanquished enemy. She watched the festivities with an impious gleam in her dark eyes, pleased that everything had gone according to her plans.
Tomorrow at dawn she would unleash the full strength of her abhorrence as several legions of warriors would ride to the Medjai city in one final assault. They would attack and destroy everything in their path, demolishing the stronghold until it was nothing but a pile of smoldering ashes. Like a swarm of locusts, they would cut a swathe through the remaining cities of the desert, leaving behind a bloody trail of desolation and despair.
This is what Markunda-Tagwizult lived for; this is what she craved since her own life had been filled with bitter disappointment and betrayal. Her mother had been a whore, selling her body to whoever paid the most, and had claimed that a Medjai had impregnated her. She had often declared that the so-called noble warrior had conveniently forgotten his promise to provide for her, turning her rage against Markunda-Tagwizult. She made her only child suffer from abuse and hunger, unknowingly feeding the burgeoning hatred that would fuel Markunda-Tagwizult's ambition to someday rule the Hunud.
When Markunda had ascended to the throne, she had vowed to make the sanctimonious guardians of the desert pay for their transgressions. Her rise to power had been swift and bloody; those who opposed her ideals were immediately executed. She had surrounded herself with an elite guard of supporters, and was confident that her reign as queen would last a lifetime.
Heartless, cruel, and vindictive, Markunda-Tagwizult had many enemies among her followers and she was constantly fearful that one of them would try to assassinate her in order to gain access to the throne. She kept close to her only those that she trusted implicitly, and glanced around the platform as she watched her companions and officers enjoy the festivities.
Oh, she had heard the stories, and listened with a calculating mind to the gossip that had traveled through the encampment like wildfire. Her dark gaze slid to Tizemet-Bahac whose latest actions were quite suspicious since she had suddenly become good friends with the grieving Damya-Ultafa. Her eyes narrowed as she recalled the report she had read, and had coldly dismissed the death of Damya-Ultafa's only child as a sacrifice for the good of the Hunud.
What pricked her interest more than the death of Tabari-Yervant was how Tizemet-Bahac had lost possession of her dagger, and thought it odd that it had somehow ended up in the Medjai's hands. A Hunud warrior never relinquished her weapon, and fought to the death rather than face the wrath of her queen for her inferiority in battle.
As was Damya-Ultafa's right, a blood feud had been invoked and Markunda- Tagwizult capitalized on it by proclaiming war against the Medjai. She reasoned to her supporters that there was no better revenge for Tabari's death than to gain complete control over the occupants of the Sahara. They would once again become a strong and forceful presence in the desert, and Markunda-Tagwizult would not rest until the Medjai Chieftain Ardeth Bay's heart was presented to her on a platter.
Markunda-Tagwizult acknowledged the bearer that had stepped forward presenting the ceremonial dagger with a pompous wave of her hand, and turned to Muhjah-Aji. "By honoring your prowess in capturing the killer of Damya-Ultafa's son, it is your right to make the killing stroke," she said.
Muhjah-Aji had been a silent, troubled presence standing next to the queen, and her sorrow showed in the depths of her dark eyes. She stared at the dagger, struggling to keep her anguish in check and ignoring the impulse to run to Reyhan's side. Her tortured gaze then danced around the platform, staring at each of her sister warriors until it came to rest on a gloating Tizemet-Bahac. Muhjah-Aji frowned when the other warrior leaned over to a comrade and whispered something conspiratorially, her gaze staring at the back of the queen's head. For one moment, hatred flashed in her eyes but when she realized she was being observed Tizemet-Bahac schooled her face into showing no emotion.
"Take the dagger," the queen promptly impatiently.
Muhjah-Aji reached for it, willing herself to remain numb and uncaring. "I am most honored, my queen," she murmured and walked down the steps of the platform.
She glanced over her shoulder and stared at Tizemet-Bahac who boldly made a slashing motion with her hand, and then turned back to Reyhan. Each step was like a knife being plunged into her heart, and as she came closer to the cross she inwardly wept that the masculine beauty of his body had been marred perhaps forever. Her hand tightened around the hilt, and then loosened, over and over again until she stood close enough to slice the jugular.
Muhjah-Aji took a deep breath, and realized that the air around her vibrated and tingled like a living, breathing entity. The crowd watched her with the unblinking eye of a predator, eager to see the Medjai die. She raised her arm and the drums rolled to life with one long ominous beat.
"Kill...kill...kill...kill..." the chant started out as a whisper but steadily grew in strength and volume. Snippets of dark encouragement undulated and flowed around Muhjah-Aji and she drew her arm across her body. She would cut the jugular open with two quick slashes; her only way to ease Reyhan's suffering, allowing him to die a quick and merciful death. When the blade began its descent, a roar of fury rolled through the mob and it jarred Muhjah-Aji; she stopped and looked towards the opposite end of the arena.
A/N – I'm baaack...[eg] Sorry for the lapse in posting the chapters, but as the Kidd Mdd so aptly described it, I had a computer scarab to contend with...and it knocked me offline for a few weeks. But now it would appear everything is running just fine. Normally I would do the shout-out's but I just want to get this darn chappie posted. But I will acknowledge those who faithfully read this story, and left feedback that was often inspirational. Dawn, Shel, Serena, Karri, the Kidd Mdd, Nakhti, and of course Ladybug1...thank you all for reading my humble fanfic.
Shall I remind you that it's not over until the lazy camel lies down...? Make sure your belts are still fastened, and remain in your seats until the ride is over. Lol Peace and thanks for reading!