Continued from Chapter 9 - Part III
Dramatis Personae |
Nabati:
Mun'at Ha'Qadri: General of the Nabati army, tasked with uniting the tribes of Arabia and subduing the Saba' confederations that control Arabia Felix.
Shullai Ha'Maleki: Prince of the Nabati, riding south under Mun'at's command.
Ravîv'êl Bikrum: Crown Prince of the Nabati. Currently governing the conquered settlement of Dedan.
Malka Qênu: King of the Nabati, and leader of the united tribes.
Rana'in: Elder warrior and long-time friend of Mun'at.
Khalil: Raider under Mun'at's command, usually tasked with leading the cavalry and light skirmishers.
Haza'el: Captain of the Nabati.
Wayyuq: A spy and pathfinder in the service of the Nabati, but not of their tribe.
Sabeans (Saba'):
Mubsamat: Queen of the Saba' with ambitions to end the tribal rivalries that plague her people.
Tharin: Captain of Mubsamat's guard, tasked with contacting the approaching Nabati on Mubsamat's behalf and bringing them over to her cause.
Zaadi Il'Bayyin: Often referred to as "Lord of the Northpass", Zaadi is a Qayl (higher official) of the Saba', and the ringleader of a group of nobles arrayed against Mubsamat.
Halik Il'Yakif: Landowner and noble of the Saba' who initially followed Zaadi's plans but has since been turned by Mubsamat.
Far'am Rafshan: Half-Qatabani exile who was in league with Zaadi Il'Bayyin, until Zaadi killed him.
Karab: Son of the Athtar Yazi' clan and great leader of the Hashidi warriors of the northern plateau. He is also in league with Zaadi against Mubsamat.
Hasan: Deceased brother of Karab.
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Chapter 10
A Traitor's Challenge
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(Part I)
An icy wind tore through the high passes, dragging knives of cold in its wake. It whistled between the peaks, its chill voice too often the only sound to be heard, the only melody to play in the desolate places above the clouds. Yet the jagged cracked teeth of the Sarat Mountains neither needed nor deserved any other tune to belie their true nature. Their shelter protected the lands of the Saba', and it was their presence that ensured the annual rains that sustained the upland plateau, but the mountains themselves were cruel and barbarous things.
Fitting that they should provide refuge for Zaadi. Tharin thought to himself, his gaze sweeping over the gray towers of stone. His eyes then slowly returned to the mountain trail he and his men had been following, and to their grisly find.
Up and down the pass the rocks had been painted with the clotting crimson of blood. It was the same ghastly spectacle they had been finding all along the Sarat since Zaadi's escape; any soul who attempted the crossing over the mountains would be attacked, without thought to their allegiance. Their wares would be parted from their owners just as surely as the latter were parted from their lives, and as if to add some faceless menace to the whole affair, the bodies would be spirited away as well, leaving nothing but blood, a scattering of debris, and the eternal elegy of the wind whistling through the high places. Zaadi's allies were closing the roads to the north, shutting the upland plateau in upon itself.
The tribes of the Saba' were traders, like nearly ever other people of Arabia. However, where their sundered cousins busied themselves with fish, fruit, linens, and other such paltry things, the people of the high plain devoted their efforts to a greater good, a luxury of kings and emperors: frankincense. The liban tree, from whose resin the incense was made, grew most strongly along the fringes of the high plateau, and the Saba' had long maintained their place in the world by making the precious substance a mainstay of their commerce. They traded it far and wide, and by it, they had garnered themselves more wealth than might be imagined. Yet by the actions of a single renegade lord and his few allies, that wealth would disappear in little time if nothing was done.
There were ships which could carry the precious cargoes to the north and the kingdoms of the Mediterranean beyond, but the Saba' were not at heart a seagoing people. They owned few vessels, controlled fewer ports, and relying wholly on such means would result in the lion's share of their riches being split amongst captains and crews of foreign powers. It would not do. Yet the only overland routes that avoided the passes though the mountains were those that cut far to the east, skirting the great sand waste of al-Rub' al Khali. By all accounts, that road was free of Zaadi's brigands, but the inland desert could be just as dangerous as any band of plunderers, and was certain to be doubly as unforgiving. And even were that road to be safe, it would add weeks and more to any caravan's voyage. It too would not do. And so Tharin and his men had been patrolling the passes, hunting for any sign of the rebellious tribes, yet managing only ever to find sanguine tributes to their enemies' successes. They would need a victory, and soon, or no degree of cunning would suffice to keep Mubsamat atop her so recently won throne.
Tharin stepped to the side of the trail, staring at a large outcropping of gray granite shot through with veins of pale green, the colors overwashed with blood. He then flicked his eyes up the pass, to where the furthest of his men were standing, perhaps fifty paces away. He knew those soldiers were at one end of the deathly scene, and Tharin himself was at the other, and slowly the captain's brow pinched in thought. After a moment so, his features again smoothed, though not fully, and he stepped toward a nearby soldier, a young man who had often demonstrated a sharpness of eye and mind that Tharin now needed.
"How many strong was the attacked caravan, do you think?" Tharin asked, suspecting he already knew the answer.
The young soldier looked at the scuffed dirt of the trail, the red-stained rocks to either side, his face pinching in thought as he did so. "I cannot say for sure." he finally answered, adding, "But by their marks I would guess they were forty to fifty in number. Certainly not far more nor less than that."
Tharin fixed the soldier with an appraising look, asking, "And do you notice anything about the blood stains?"
Again the soldier bent his attention to the ground and the rocks, this time with even more intensity, as though he knew Tharin had spied something already. His eyes roved this way and that, taking in every detail, until suddenly the man's head cocked ever so slightly to one side. "The blood..." he said hesitantly, his voice trailing off.
Tharin looked on in silence, careful not to distract the other's exploration.
"The blood is regular." he went on. "The pools and flecks are just where each man would be standing in the caravan."
"And what does that mean?" Tharin pressed.
"It means that none ran, and that none came together to fight side by side. They must have been ambushed, killed before they even realized the danger which lay over them. It is the only way so many could be slain without any managing to escape or to fight."
"No. They were not ambushed. Not in the way you mean." Tharin replied matter-of-factly. Then, as if to explain himself, he gestured to edges of the trail. To one side, the road fell off into a series of slipping scree slopes, cataracts of gravel and shale. To the other, there rose a vertical wall of granite twice the height of a man, above which lay more slopes of loose stone. No man could have approached from either of those directions.
"Then the enemy must have come from before and behind, trapping them. They had nowhere to flee to, and they were butchered like animals. Why are you smiling?"
Tharin, who was indeed smiling, his eyes flashing with pleasure and malice, responded, "Because we now know that they are watching the passes, choosing their prey. They are not laying traps, they are hunting, and a hunter can be baited!"
Continue to Chapter 10 - Part II