Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (47 page)

She
turned
as
she
heard
his
hurried
footsteps.
“I
doubt
they
come
in
friendship!”
Nasir
said
flatly,
as
he
reached
her
side,
relieved
to
see
no
sign
yet
of
the
threatened
force.

She
nodded.
“There’s
little
doubt
they
don’t,
I
think!
Those
two,
riding
with
large
numbers
of
men
and
with
no
advance
riders
to
say
they
are
friends,
tells
us
that!”
she
replied,
equally
grimly.
“We
may
soon
know
more,
though!”
she
added.
“Look!”

Nasir
had
seen
it
too,
a
lone
horseman
approaching
fast,
recklessly
so,
became
clear
as
they
saw
the
thick
white
foam
sprouting
from
his
mount’s
flared
nostrils,
a
sure
sign
of
an
animal
being
ridden
to
its
limits.
The
tension
gripped
them
all
as
they
watched
the
rider’s
headlong
gallop
along
the
dusty,
hard-packed
earth
of
the
road
leading
to
the
town
gates.
Suddenly
a
shot
rang
out
and
he
slumped
in
his
saddle.
Somehow
though,
he
kept
his
seat
and
his
horse
raced
under
the
hurriedly
opened
high
gateway,
which,
as
hurriedly,
shut
again
behind
his
racing
form.

Rifle
fire
erupted
again
and
they
all
instinctively
looked
out
across
the
walls.
It
was
only
when
they
heard
a
second
shot
that
they
realised
both
had
come
from
behind
them
–
from
inside
the
town
itself
and
from
two
directions!
The
three
men
wheeled
round,
instinctively
moving
in
front
of
Zahirah
and
Talal,
as
their
eyes
scanned
the
walls
and
the
cluster
of
low
buildings
nearby.
The
roof
of
any
one
of
them
could
be
providing
cover
for
the
marksman,
or
men,
they
thought,
as
more
shots
rang
out,
shattering
the
hot,
humid
air,
and
blowing
chunks
out
of
the
wall
near
them.

“Over
there!”
Nasir
shouted,
pointing
to
the
tower
of
a
nearby
minaret,
as
he
saw
sunlight
flash
on
a
rifle
barrel
which
was
hurriedly
withdrawn
as
its
owner
saw
that
he’d
been
spotted.
It
did
him
little
good,
however,
as
Daoud,
who’d
already
shot
the
first
of
the
marksmen,
sheltering
on
a
nearby
roof,
ordered
two
of
his
men
up
into
the
building
with
orders
to
capture
the
man
alive,
if
at
all
possible.

This
they
succeeded
in
doing,
though
only
just.
The
man
thrown
at
Nasir’s
feet
was
dying.
He’d
fought
to
avoid
capture
and
the
resulting
bullet
and
knife
wounds
were
providing
easy
pathways
for
the
blood
to
flow
from
his
body.
The
man
knew
he
was
dying
and
he
had
only
one
thought
left.
He
looked
at
Zahirah
as
he
spoke.
“I
know
little,
but
will
tell
it,
if
my
family
are
not
harmed
and
are
provided
for
after
my
death,”
he
whispered.
At
her
nod,
he
said,
thickly
and
slowly,
through
the
blood
rapidly
filling
his
throat
and
lungs,
“I
was
paid
by
a
manservant
of
the
Lord
Badr
to
shoot
either
yourself,
Lady,
or
the
Lord
Nasir
or
the
young
emir,
should
you
by
chance
escape
the
fighting
in
the
great
chamber.
Should
that
not
be
possible,
I
was
to
shoot
the
Lady
Firyal
and
Mish’al,
Nawwaf,
or
Daoud
–
any
close
to
yourselves
and
with
power.”
He
had
told
all
he
knew,
but
even
had
he
not,
that
was
all
he
was
able
to
tell;
his
time
had
run
out
and
his
head
slumped
forward
tiredly
onto
his
blood-covered
chest.
He
was,
strangely,
at
peace.
Ruthless
though
he
knew
Zahirah
to
be,
he
also
knew
that
her
word,
once
given,
was
always
kept;
his
family
would
be
safe.
Though
life
was
hard,
he
hadn’t
wanted
to
die,
but
in
doing
so
he
had
secured
safety
from
want
for
his
family,
and,
after
all,
that
was
all
a
man
could
ask
for
in
this
world.

“Badr!
So
we
were
right.
He
was
planning
to
move
against
us!”

“Yes,
though
we
knew
he
would
–
it
was
only
ever
the
timing
of
such
a
move
that
we
didn’t
know,”
agreed
Zahirah,
as
she
calmly
watched
the
man
die.
Her
word
was
given
and
she
would
abide
by
it.
It
didn’t
mean,
however,
that
she
had
to
feel
any
pity
for
the
broken
man
dying
at
her
feet.