Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (44 page)

As
though
reading
his
mind,
three
fighters
hacked
their
way
through
a
group
of
the
younger
brothers
desperately
trying
to
protect
the
elderly
Abdullah,
and
leaped
across
the
dais.
Horrified,
Nasir,
whirling
around,
had
only
a
second
to
see
Fahad,
one
of
the
group
around
the
elderly
prince,
suddenly
stagger
and
fall,
blood
pouring
from
his
chest,
before
he
became
involved
in
his
own
life
and
death
struggle,
as
he
tried
to
protect
the
princesses
and
Talal.

Zahirah,
seeing
the
danger
to
her
son,
stepped
forward
to
shield
him
from
the
bullets
and
swords
she
knew
were
coming.

Talal,
seeing
what
she
intended,
shouted
“Mother!”
and
turned
to
look
at
her.

Then
something
happened
and,
Nasir,
watching,
saw,
once
and
for
all,
how
truly
bottomless
was
her
love
for
the
boy.
It
transcended
merely
his
being
a
route
to
the
power
she
loved,
indeed
needed.
It
went
well
beyond
her
love
for
him
as
his
father’s
son.
It
was,
in
its
bottomless
purity,
the
love
of
a
mother
for
her
child.
A
love
whose
duty
was
to
protect,
yes,
but
also
to
be
wise
enough
to
see
what
her
child
needed
to
enable
him
to
grow
as
he
should.

What
did
she
herself
see
as
her
gaze
locked
with
that
of
her
son
as
he
looked
back
at
her?
She
saw
a
child
as
fierce
as
his
father
had
been
fierce;
she
saw
his
wish
to
protect
her;
she
saw
his
proud
look
willing
her
to
stand
aside
–
to
let
him,
as
the
man
of
the
family,
protect
her;
she
saw
also
eyes
which,
unknowingly,
looked
at
her
with
the
eyes
of
a
young
boy
to
his
mother,
uncertain
she
would
give
him
this
freedom,
but
silently
begging
her
not
to
shame
him
by
seeming
to
hide
behind
a
woman’s
skirts;
she
saw
a
child
doubting
she
would
see
his
need;
she
saw
also
a
boy
who
at
this
moment
of
transition
into
too
early
manhood,
was
also,
perhaps,
a
little
frightened,
both
of
being
granted
his
wish
and
of
being
denied
it;
but
that
too
was
right.

Seeing
all
this
in
the
millisecond
great
insights
often
take,
she
nodded
very
slightly,
handed
him
her
gun
and
stepped
aside
to
stand
behind
him
as
he
turned
swiftly
and
shot
the
first
of
the
three
attackers,
now
within
feet
of
them,
as
he
raised
his
sword
to
slash
down
at
his
head.
Stumbling
backwards
the
dying
tribesman
fell
against
the
second
of
the
attacking
trio.
He
in
turn
was
shot
by
Nasir
before
he
could
regain
his
balance.
The
third,
seeing
the
fate
of
the
first
two,
quickly
sidestepped
the
defending
group
around
Talal
and
slashed
down
savagely
at
the
boy’s
unprotected
head.

It
was
a
killing
blow.

Or
it
would
have
been
had
it
hit
the
young
emir.
It
took
the
snarling
attacker
a
moment
or
two
to
adapt
to
the
suddenly
changed
circumstances
of
the
confrontation;
as
long,
in
fact,
as
it
took
the
pain
from
his
now
severed
arm
to
reach
his
numbed
brain,
which
was
fractionally
after
his
arm
and
sword
hit
the
dais
with
a
wet
and
sickening
thud.
His
scream,
which
would
have
been
entirely
understandable,
never
got
uttered
as
his
throat
was
shattered
by
the
bullets
from
a
gun
fired
from
behind
the
beleaguered
group.

Turning
quickly,
they
saw
the
welcome
figure
of
Mish’al,
as
he
casually
killed
the
last
of
the
standing
attackers
gathered
in
the
doorway.
His
men
quickly
moving
the
dead
bodies
blocking
the
small
doorway,
the
young
warrior
hurriedly
entered.
Following
quickly,
his
loyal
guards
came
in
and,
on
his
command,
took
up
positions
surrounding
the
royal
group.

Nasir,
at
last
seeing
Talal
was
safe,
was
able
to
look
across
the
dais
to
seek
out
who
had
saved
the
boy
from
the
second
attacker.
“Fahad!”
he
shouted
and
hurried
across
to
where
the
body
of
the
young
prince
was
slumped
half
on
the
dais,
his
sword,
bloody
testament
to
his
timely
intervention,
still
clasped
in
his
outstretched
arm.
Alarmed,
his
young
uncle
saw
that
if
Fahad
was
by
some
miracle
still
alive,
he
was
still
at
great
risk
from
the
fighting
swirling
savagely
round,
almost
over,
his
inert
body.
He
moved
swiftly
and
started
to
move
him
into
the
comparative
safety
of
the
rear
of
the
dais.
Quick
as
he
was
to
step
across
to
his
kinsman’s
side,
however,
Zahirah
was
quicker.
Ignoring
any
danger
to
themselves,
they
turned
Fahad
over,
both
gasping
as
they
saw
the
savage
gashes
across
his
face
and
the
blood
still
pumping
heavily
from
his
chest,
staining
his
white
robes
a
shocking
scarlet.
A
slight
groan
re-assured
them
that
he
was
still
alive,
though
for
how
much
longer
was
far
from
certain,
so
serious
were
the
wounds
he’d
sustained.
Nasir
silently
marvelled
at
the
youth’s
courage
to
have
still
been
able
to
not
only
see
Talal’s
danger,
but
react
to
it.