Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (46 page)

Suddenly
his
spirits
rose
as
he
saw
Badr,
and
several
of
his
supporters,
fighting
through
the
crush
of
sweating,
bleeding
men
to
reach
them.
Swiftly
his
brother’s
ruthless
slashing
and
shooting
at
any
in
their
way
brought
them
facing
Nasir’s
dwindling
band.

Within
seconds
he’d
reached
them
but
Nasir’s
thanks
froze
on
his
parched
lips.
The
guns
of
Badr
and
his
men
were
pointed
not
at
their
enemy,
but
at
Nasir
himself.

Suddenly
it
became
clear
–
too
late,
he
realised
who
was
behind
the
attack.

“Well,
brother!”
Badr
spat
mockingly,
seeing
him
trying
to
protect
Talal
behind
him
as
he
raised
his
own
revolver.
“Two
for
the
price
of
one
bullet,
even
sweeter,”
he
sneered.

Nasir,
seeing
what
he
intended
and
its
inevitability,
moved
slightly
aside
and
gently
brought
Talal
to
stand
by
him.
“If
you
are
to
kill
us
–
see
both
our
faces,”
he
spat,
his
arms
round
the
boy’s
shoulders.
“The
boy
is
his
father’s
son
and
will
not
die
hiding!
You
must
see
his
eyes
as
you
kill
him,”
he
said
with
cold
finality.
Although
he
could
feel
a
slight
tremble
ripple
through
the
boy’s
small
frame,
he
was
proud,
glancing
down,
at
the
calm
courage
he
saw
in
the
young
emir’s
face.

“It
matters
little
that
it
will
now
take
two
bullets.
I
have
plenty,”
mocked
Badr,
preparing
to
fire.

Chapter
Twenty

The
first
bullet
took
Badr
in
the
chest;
the
second
in
his
neck.
Before
he
hit
the
ground
he
was
dead.

Nasir
looked
quickly
round
to
see
who’d
saved
them.
His
eyes
fell
on
Nawwaf,
at
the
head
of
a
small
group
of
Nasir’s
closest
fighters,
lowering
his
pistol
as
they
forced
their
way
through
the
now
splintering
groups
of
men
and
formed
a
protective
ring
around
Nasir
and
Talal.

“You
have
a
timely
habit,
my
friend,
of
killing
my
brothers!”
laughed
Nasir
weakly,
tightly
gripping
his
friend’s
shoulder
as
he
recalled
the
time,
three
years
previously,
when
the
loyal
warrior
and
childhood
friend
had
previously
saved
his
life
by
killing
another
brother.

Nawwaf
grimaced.
“Not
the
way
I’d
wish
it
put,
but
if
that’s
what
it
takes
to
keep
you
alive,
then
that’s
what
I’ll
do!”
he
shot
back,
as
his
eyes
scanned
the
chamber
for
more
threats
to
his
life-long
friend.

He
needn’t
have
worried.
Badr’s
men,
seeing
his
death,
lost
any
will
to
continue
fighting
and
were
quickly
throwing
down
their
weapons.
Within
seconds
what
had
been
a
war-zone
became
little
more
than
groups
of
vanquished
men
trying
desperately
to
survive
the
next
few
minutes.
Some,
before
Nasir
could
intervene,
were
shot,
stabbed,
or
clubbed
to
death
by
bitter
loyalists.

“Enough!”
shouted
Nasir
and
hurriedly
ordered
Nawwaf
and
Mish’al
to
protect
the
threatened
survivors.
“We
will
decide
what
is
to
happen,
and
to
whom,
once
our
blood
is
cooled,”
he
said
quietly.

So,
it
was
over.
Later,
when
there
was
time
to
reflect,
re-live
the
horror
and
the
shock,
the
survivors
were
stunned
to
find
that
the
entire
gun-battle
and
the
bloodbath
which
followed
had
lasted
less
than
one
half
of
one
hour.

Immediately
after
it,
however,
there
was
no
such
reflection,
just
gratitude
that
they
had
survived
and
an
overwhelming
grief
for
those
of
their
family
and
friends
who
hadn’t.
With
an
infinite
weariness
as
the
fighting
stopped,
some
rose
from
where
they’d
been
sheltering,
some
dropped
their
weapons
and
embraced
others,
carefully,
for
there
were
many
and
grievous
wounds,
even
amongst
the
living.
Some,
of
course,
could
never
rise
again.

The
princesses
had
been
escorted
to
their
apartments
by
Mish’al’s
guards.
Talal,
who
still
refused
to
join
them,
stood
with
Nasir,
shock
on
his
young
face,
as
they
looked
out
onto
the
blood-soaked
scene
before
them.
Giving
instructions
for
each
body
to
be
carefully
checked
for
signs
of
life,
Nasir
ached
to
leave
the
blood
drenched
room.
His
body
was
bowed
with
weariness
and
his
soul
with
sorrow
and
he
felt
as
though
he’d
aged
thirty
years
in
the
thirty
minutes
he’d
just
lived
through.
He
knew,
though,
that
he
couldn’t
leave.
With
Badr
dead,
he
and
Talal
were
the
embodiment
of
Narash
and
they
must
be
seen
to
be
leading,
not
skulking,
in
some
safe
back-room
of
the
palace.
So,
just
as
the
lowliest
slave,
he
and
his
nephew
helped
with
the
moving
of
the
wounded,
the
careful
shrouding
of
the
dead,
and
the
collection
of
all
the
weaponry.
Neither
they,
nor
those
watching,
felt
any
incongruity;
they
were
powerful,
yes,
but
in
Narash,
power
still
came
with
heavy
responsibilities.

Suddenly
there
was
renewed
uproar
and
they
all
reached
yet
again
for
their
weapons
as
the
great
doors
burst
open.

Then
all
weariness
fled,
yet
more
danger
was
approaching
–
and
fast.

“Many
riders
have
crossed
the
borders
and
are
coming
here!”
shouted
an
exhausted
and
bleeding
man,
as
he
half
collapsed
at
Nasir’s
feet.

“
Merciful Allah
!
How
many
and
who
are
they?”

“Many,
Lord,
many;
our
scout
didn’t
say
anything
more!”
replied
the
messenger,
lowering
his
voice
and
adding
bleakly.
“He
says
he
saw
the
Lord
Salman
and
the
merchant
Ilahi
amongst
those
leading
them!”

Salman
and
Suleiman
Ilahi!
A
prince
of
the
house
now
allied
with
a
man
who,
despite
fleeing
some
years
previously,
still
had
strong
links
to
some
of
the
emirate’s
most
powerful
merchant
families.
Ya Allah
!
A
deadly
mix,
thought
Nasir,
as,
flanked
by
Mish’al
and
Nawwaf,
he
and
Talal
hurried
to
the
ramparts
of
the
citadel
and
ran
along
them
to
where
they
overlooked
the
town’s
gateway.
He
was
not
surprised
to
see
Zahirah
already
there.
As
ever,
she
was
outwardly
unperturbed
as
she
oversaw
the
slaves
of
her
household
hurriedly
bringing
up
guns
and
other
weaponry
from
the
town’s
arsenal.