"Look at what we have," the new Turk said. "Looks like you finally decided to show your face." He had a gun pulled from his belt – from his appearance he'd just come in off the streets – and had it trained on Mahmoud. "Drop your knife," he directed at Ali.
The younger man glared with all intensity. He heard the man that he had been holding down move behind him and turned just in time to see the Turk's dagger coming at him. He moved as quickly as he could but could not avoid the blade biting deeply into his left arm. He growled out a low stream of curses.
"I said to drop it," the leader said, his eyes hard. "Then uncover your faces."
Ali risked a quick glance at his brother, eyes speaking what words could not. Mahmoud gave the briefest of nods and a new knife dropped to the floor. The Turk behind Ali chuckled as he stood and grasped him by the arm, digging his fingers into the freely bleeding wound.
"Hasad."
Hasad, as his name seemed to be, let go of Ali's arm after giving another painful tug to it. "Acar, what shall we do with them?"
Acar gave an evil smirk as he moved forward and tugged Mahmoud's still-in-place garment that wrapped his face from the wandering eye. "Mahmoud Hazr, I believe is the name."
When Mahmoud gave him no response other than to raise his chin a bit higher, Acar backhanded him. He saw Ali lunge at him from the corner of his eye and started backwards. Their eyes met briefly, startled black eyes meeting enraged deep brown ones, a moment of understanding also passing. Ali would not sit passively if this man were to try to harm his elder brother. He would much rather die.
It was in an instant that Ali had dropped the man's gaze and dropped himself to the floor, scooping up his knife. As Hasad came at him, trying to keep his prisoner under some form of control, he lashed out, drawing blood and sending the Turk stumbling back against his bed and falling to the floor with a loud groan, and then there was no more from him.
Mahmoud moved quickly, but Acar was quicker. The Turk dashed down the hall, leaving his companion to bleed to death in his own room. Ali started to move past his brother, who had stopped in the doorway. Mahmoud stopped him. "No."
"But we can-" One glare from Mahmoud cut his statement off as his shoulders sagged slightly. "Then what?"
"We leave. We do not come back to this village."
"We run?" Ali demanded.
"We use our better judgment. Come. We must wrap your arm and be on our way."
Ali looked down at his blood soaked arm and growled another set of curses as he followed his brother down the hall and out of the house.
"He knows who we are."
Mahmoud looked up from where he knelt on the ground, bandaging Ali's wound. "Yes."
Ali looked ready to burst. "There has to be something we can do about it."
"One man out of many."
"But he'll set them all out after us."
"Think, Ali," Mahmoud stated sternly as he tightened the wrap and gained a hiss of pain from the younger man. "Have you heard his name before?"
"It's common enough."
"But you do not know who he is?"
Ali thought a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Acar is very highly ranked, and has been after me nearly since Mycroft Holmes hired me into his service. He will not send men after us who are not directly under him because he wants the reward for our capture. This is pride, Ali. He will come after us personally."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Because he has been after me for years."
Ali nodded slowly.
"And now he is after you."
The younger man shrugged. "Maalesh," he answered easily.
Mahmoud shook his head. "One concept you have easily understood since the day you came."
Ali flashed a grin and stood. "We were to be off?"
The elder man sighed and stood. "We are to be off."
"He knows you?"
"Yes."
Ali crept towards awareness the next morning much slower than he usually did. The warm air had seeped into the tent and left him perfectly comfortable.
"And your brother was injured?"
"Not badly."
"But you fear for the next time."
The silence caught Ali's ears more than the words. He sat up slowly, stretched, and moved out of the tent. Mikhail the Druse was sitting with Mahmoud next to the fire with coffee in its slow process. Both men looked over at the sound of the tent flap opening. "Salaam aleikum," Mikhail greeted.
"Aleikum es-salaam," Ali answered.
Mikhail turned back to the elder brother. "You two will need to move quickly."
"Yes, we had planned on it."
"Are you well enough to move quickly?" Mikhail asked Ali, motioning to his arm that was held awkwardly with the pain.
The younger man looked near to insulted, biting his tongue. "I'm well enough," he grumbled.
Mikhail smiled a bit and placed a hand on Mahmoud's broad shoulder. "You should not fear for your brother. He is brave and wisdom will come from years with you."
Mahmoud managed a small smile of his own and nodded. "Thank you, my friend."
"You should both leave. The Turks will by after you as soon as possible. The English will not protect us yet. We are all expendable."
"Soon, Mikhail."
The other man grinned widely. "Very soon."
As he watched Mikhail the Druse walk away, Ali turned to his brother. "What is 'soon'?"
"Freedom from the Turks."
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TS