Chapter Five

Ali Hazr shifted his weight slightly from his spot crouched on the ground, watching his brother closely. The coffee was near to ready to be had and he was far beyond ready for it. They had pushed themselves beyond their limits the last several weeks. No, Ali reminded himself silently, if he were truly honest, they had been pushing it harder than usual the past year. The Turks were closing in on them. They had been closing in for the past several years. Since their return from Mahmoud's – Marsh's – sister's wedding. True, they'd taken all precautions to keep their identities safely tucked away and had carefully made their way to England for it, and he was sure that that wasn't an issue at the present time.

"Something is weighing on you."

Ali looked up, startled only slightly. He shrugged. "Acar has not forgotten us."

"And we have not forgotten him."

"I know you've seen him."

"I have."

The younger Hazr brother let out an agitated snort. "We need to take care of it," he grumbled as he pulled a knife from around his neck and wood from a bag, preparing it for a carving.

Mahmoud seemed amused at his younger brother's flare of temper. "How long has it been now?"

"That he's chased us down like dogs? Nearing to thirteen years, off and on."

"It's been a good chase. He's been patient with us."

"He's been coming too close."

Mahmoud nodded. "I must agree there. He's been far too close lately."

Ali waited for any more – he was hoping for a solution and received none – and finally sighed in defeat, his patience wearing thin. "Perhaps we should throw him off the trail? Will we continue on our path as usual?"

"You suggest missing Farash and his father's town? Surely not. Ali, patience is needed in these situations."

"I've had years of patience." He hushed his tone, even though there was no one in sight for miles. "I thought perhaps when we went England that he might forget us."

Mahmoud raised an eyebrow. "You wished for too much, brother."

"Perhaps, but it would have been nice."

"Maalesh."

Ali sighed, but then cracked a grin at long last. "Maalesh," he agreed.

The noise that awoke the younger of the Hazr brothers was not one he was accustomed to. If he had heard a donkey from outside the tent moving or the wind rustling the sand about the tent, he would have thought nothing of it, but quiet murmuring was not something often heard in the desert where few people ventured.

"Mahmoud?" he whispered, reaching for his knife. He looked to where his brother slept, finding the bed-role strangely vacant. He moved to the opening of the tent, gazing around in the darkness. Two shapes were evident, one of his brother, and one of another man whom he could not place in the dim light.

Mahmoud turned to see his brother making his way out of the tent. He said another word to the man with him and they parted. "Clear the camp."

Ali did not argue as he stooped to begin to do as he was told. His mind told him that it was not even daybreak. Were they fools to pull together goat-skin tents while still overly damp from the cold night? No, Mahmoud had reasons for doing what he did. He gathered things quickly.

"We will make it to the village before sunrise," the elder brother stated.

The younger nodded, hauling a pack on their mule. "Who was that?" he asked at last.

"Quiet," Mahmoud said lowly. "Everything has ears to hear. Even out here. Especially out here. Come."

They were nearing the village when it hit. Several Turks that were certainly employed by Acar. He'd found them. After all the years of hits and just barely misses, he'd found the Hazr brothers and they had no place to run. They had been overrun.

"You've gotten quite good, young one," Acar said with a laugh, looking over Ali. The younger man stood with his head held high, crimson-stained knife in hand.

"The next swipe is yours," Ali hissed.

"Ali! Behind you!" Mahmoud's voice reached the younger brother's ears.

Ali turned just in time to feel the butt of the gun cut across his skull, sending him falling to the ground. He groaned loudly, his eyes trying to focus. He saw someone do near to the same to Mahmoud, but he went limp when he fell. (Your hard head served you well enough this time, something inside of him chided.) He finally brought two dark coloured eyes up to Acar who loomed over him. "You'll understand if I don't find you quite as important as your brother," he said as he held a gun aimed at the young man. "You've been in this business for a while now, but not nearly as long as Mahmoud. That, and somehow, I don't find you quite as sharp as the elder Hazr. You've outlived any usefulness."

"Leave him!" That had been Mahmoud. He was conscious again, obviously.

Acar smirked. "Too bad for you," he said lowly, putting pressure on the trigger.

The gun sounded in the desert outside the small village. Its user turned on his heal. "He'll be dead soon enough," he assured the men with him and motioned to the blood quickly spreading across Ali's limp form. He smirked at Mahmoud. "He was so eager to help, too," he said in low English, and they hauled Mahmoud away.

A/N:It was ultra short, and for that I apologize! I have very little time for writing in between school and scholarships. It's been crazy. Oh, and for those that are still confused (just because it all makes since in my mind certainly does not mean – and usually means it does not – it will make since to you) I've skipped several years. I may go back later with short oneshots and fill in the thirteen years I managed to just skip. Wouldn't life be interesting if we could do that?

T: Thank you so much for your lovely compliment!