Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (24 page)

But,
laughing,
he
shrugged
the
thoughts
away.
Today,
he
was
a
boy!
And
as
a
boy
he
intended
to
enjoy
the
day’s
hunting.
Who
knows,
if
he
focused
enough
on
the
sleek
raptors
he
could
forget
the
large
number
of
guards
riding
as
closely
as
he
would
let
them.

Nasir
turned
and
laughed
as
another
rider
joined
them.
“Well
seen,
nephew!
We
have
been
expecting
you
for
some
time!
What
kept
you?”

“Most
amusing,
uncle,
most
amusing,”
scowled
Fahad.
“If
my
horse
hadn’t
stumbled
I’d
have
won;
most
definitely
I
would!”

Nasir
laughed,
though
the
younger
man
spoke
with
some
justice.
In
a
family
of
superb
riders
it
was
generally
conceded
that
he
was
one
of
the
best.
“You
insult
me
by
your
laughter,
I
am
very
tempted
to
give
you
a
beating!”
Fahad
announced
grandly.

“Well,
if
you
think
you
can
best
me,”
murmured
Nasir.

“I
don’t – that’s
why
I’ll
not
do
it!”
laughed
Fahad,
as
happy
as
the
rest
to
be
out
and
riding
free.

Boys
grow
swiftly
to
manhood
in
the
deserts,
they
have
to.
Even
with
swift
maturity
expected,
however,
Fahad
had
stood
out
from
the
rest.
Ever
since
his
role
in
saving
Zahirah
and
his
cousins
he’d
seemed
older
than
his
years.
Now,
at
seventeen,
he
was
regarded
as
a
full
man;
so
much
so,
he
was
soon
to
take
a
second
wife.

Their
slaves
having
caught
up
with
them,
each
took
their
own
hooded
bird
onto
the
gauntlet
protecting
their
left
hand
and
wrist
from
the
savage
claws
of
the
falcons.
Then
each
rider
gently
stroked
its
feathers
to
calm
the
hooded
bird
and
let
it
know
that
it
was
back
with
its
owner.
Even
Kerim
had
a
hawk
on
his
wrist.
A
fierce
hunter
in
his
own
lands,
he’d
arranged
to
have
his
own
birds
follow
him
out
when,
after
a
brief
and
eventful
posting
in
Turkey
itself,
following
the
fall
of
al
Hofuf,
he’d
been
again
sent
back
into
Arabia.

Then
a
cry
from
one
of
their
slaves
alerted
the
group
to
its
arrival
near
the
spot
where
the
trackers
had
come
across
a
small
colony
of
desert
hares,
one
of
the
prime
targets
for
the
savage
falcons,
and
a
good
start
to
the
day’s
sport.

Everyone
quickly
quietened
as
they
removed
the
hoods
from
their
falcons’
heads.
Uncovered,
the
birds
were
ready
at
a
moment’s
notice
to
be
unleashed.
Once
free,
the
raptors,
one
of
the
most
perfect
killing
machines
nature
had
yet
devised,
would
race
high
and
ever
higher,
streaking
into
the
sky’s
vast,
blue
emptiness
until
they
were
scarcely
a
dot
in
their
owner’s
eye.
When
they
sighted
their
prey,
often
almost
out
of
sight,
far,
far
ahead
of
the
hunting
party
itself,
then,
then
would
come
the
stunning
reverse
and
they
would
flash
downwards
at
ever
increasing
speed.
The
winged
killers
would
be
scarcely
visible
to
their
viewers’
eyes
as
they
would
be
far,
far
away
across
the
desert.
Then,
appearing
only
as
a
briefly
seen
shadow
from
below,
their
claws
would
rip
down
through
fur,
or
feathers
and
plunge
deep
into
the
skin
and
down
on
into
the
flesh
of
their
victim.
For,
once
released,
they
rarely,
if
ever,
failed
to
kill.

“Come,
Talal,
release
your
bird
and
let’s
see
how
he
performs!”
Nasir
said
pointing
to
the
sleek,
beautiful,
bird,
its
feathers
of
varying
shades
of
brown,
on
his
nephew’s
wrist.
It
had
been
a
gift
from
Nasir
himself
to
his
young
kinsman,
who
had
been
overjoyed
at
the
expensive
present,
unaware
of
his
uncle’s
ulterior
motive.
For,
by
the
long
hours
of
patient
training
the
young
bird
had
needed,
Nasir
hoped
indirectly
to
help
the
boy
develop
the
patience
he
would
also
need
once
he
eventually
came
of
age
and
became
in
fact,
as
well
as
in
name,
the
ruler
of
his
father’s
kingdom.
The
magnificent
looking
bird
was
a
saker
,
one
of
the
most
prized
of
the
falcons
used
in
Arabia.
It
was
its
first
outing
after
the
many,
many
weeks
Talal
had
spent
in
slowly,
very
slowly,
getting
it
used
to
his
arm,
and
to
himself
as
its
owner.