Continued from Chapter 4 - Part VI
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.
Lord of the Northpass (Qayl): Ringleader of a group of Saba' nobles arrayed against Mubsamat.
Halik Il'Yakif: Landowner and noble of the Saba' who initially followed the Qayl's plans but has since been turned by Mubsamat.
Far'am Rafshan: Half-Qatabani exile in league with the Qayl.
Karab: Son of the Athtar Yazi' clan and great leader of the Hashidi warriors of the northern plateau. He is also in league with the Qayl against Mubsamat.
Hasan: Deceased brother of Karab.
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Chapter 4
New Friends, New Enemies
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(Part VII)
A gentle wind danced over the ocean of dunes, its toes digging out thin rivulets in the sands and causing slides and flows, their whispering notes joining together and multiplying until the dry waves nearly roared. Further inland the umber mountains presented a terrifying aspect, a world of dessication, devoid of life, but where the dunes met the sea soft breezes carried borrowed rains and the scents of salt, fish, and the memories of stunted upland juniper. There were no trees and few large beasts on the rolling fields of sand, but the landscape teemed with low grasses and scrabbling shrubs, with slot-eyed goats and unseen birds singing in the day. However, despite the unkempt beauty of the place Mun'at's soul was heavy, his eyes clouded.
He glanced over his shoulder at the column following, and Rana'in, a dozen paces behind, nodded, a thin smile on his lips. But Mun'at could not find the strength to return the offered goodwill. Since escaping the wintry grip of Hijaz's upper valleys they had stopped at every village they found, every petty settlement or scattering of patchwork farms clinging to the scant waters of some unnamed half-dry riverbed, and again and again Mun'at had given his sermons. At first his words had come slowly, unnaturally, but with each retelling his message had become more clear and forceful. And they had believed him. They had listened, their eyes lightening with a hidden fire, and each time his company resumed its march they had grown in number. True, their convert recruits were a generally poor lot, lesser sons and orphaned shepherds for the most part, but there was a flame inside them that could not be quelled. A lust for brotherhood, for freedom, for deliverance from the everyday tedium and worry that plagued any settled tribe. It was a lust that Mun'at had kindled. He had promised them a better life, one of purpose and meaning, and they had believed him. But it was a lie.
Mun'at let out a heavy sigh, his eyes alighting on a boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen years, his cheeks still smooth and offset with a splash of youthful scarlet. The general tried to recall when the child who thought himself a man had first joined them; at Hamra or Jedida, Bir ibn Hassani or Khoreiba? Eventually he simply shook his head. After all, it no longer mattered where they had found him. The boy, like the rest of them, now belonged to the Nabati, to the United Tribes. For that was Mun'at's lie. He promised freedom, all the while expecting obedience and servitude. He spoke of brotherhood but set himself above those who followed him. And he championed peace while leading them to war.
The boy moved past and Mun'at gazed after him, entranced by the gentle slope of his shoulders, the easy, almost carefree swing of his steps. He had been with them now for perhaps a week at most, in the company of strangers who dealt in death and carried its threat with them at all times, and yet he seemed content, at peace even. For his subtleties and deceptions in omission Mun'at felt himself a fraud, but there was a boy before him who was smiling, free, in the presence of brothers. The general lowered his eyes to the earth and after a moment he felt a soft touch upon his wrist. He looked up to find Rana'in beside him and silently they began moving again together, the old warrior's palm still resting upon his arm.
At the center of Ma'rib there was a low mount, a bald and cracked fist of red stone upthrust into the sky, its earthen knuckles adorned with high walls and distrusting battlements. Day and night it looked down on the city below, standing guard over the floodplains and long fields, but its eternal vigil was a guise only. Behind the walls, behind the bows and spears, lay a maze of verdant courtyards and shining rooms, each ringing with laughter, song, and the soft bubbling notes of fountains and pools. Behind the facade of stewardship and protection lay a small world of fabricated luxury, of pleasures jealously hoarded, hidden away from the eyes of common men. Every joy that could be had under the eternal sun was there to be found somewhere in the great palace of Saba'. But for each angel that moves men's lighter thoughts there exists a demon of no less might commanding the dark undercurrents of our desires, and not all the rooms of that place were graced with goodness. In the deepest recesses of the citadel lay a labyrinth of black cells, their blank stone walls slowly dripping, the air suffocated with the stench of smoke, fear, and the sickly metallic aroma of blood. The only light in that place came from the torches set at irregular intervals, their flickering flames failing to dispel the shadows and instead giving them shape and depth. The greed and ambition of noble hearts was bred in the palace above, but it was here in the dark that such passions were truly allowed to flourish.
In one room, perhaps a mark cleaner and brighter than the rest, there stood two men, a woman sitting opposite them, her olive fingers slowly rapping on the table before her. The steady click of her nails on the old pocked wood made them shift uneasily, made them fear the color of her current sentiments, and she seemed to relish their disquiet. After a moment more she stopped, gently steepled her hands before her, and began to speak, her voice even and untroubled.
"What news have you for me?" Mubsamat asked, the corners of her mouth suddenly turning up ever so slightly, the flash of warmth disarming and yet somehow troubling.
Halik Il'Yakif took a hesitant half-step forward. "My Queen," he began, "since the return of Karab and his warriors it would seem that your fortunes have begun daily to wax. The Lord of the Northpass has shut himself in, closed the upland valleys as best he can, and placed trust only in the few clans that cling to Sarat's stony slopes. The Hashidis remain with him, as they ever will be, but his other allies distance themselves more and more." He paused briefly then, and concluded, "The northern tribes have become suspicious and quiet."
"Yes." Mubsamat said flatly. "The northern fools never were graced with far sight. I expected no less of them." She quietly shook her head to herself before continuing in more earnest. "But what of the half-Qatabani, Far'am Rafshan? His measure has never been clear to me, yet I sense he could be of some use to our cause. Have you any tidings of him worth relating?"
Halik glanced at the man beside him before answering, his brow creased and unsure. "My Queen," he said slowly, his eyes downcast, "we did as you asked, but the man has left the high plateau and is even now riding for the borderlands of the east, to the lower plains of his half-blood tribes. Far'am Rafshan has quit the lands of Saba'."
Mubsamat looked momentarily thoughtful, her lips softly pursed, but the expression soon gave way to a broad smile, the marks of gaiety out of place in the vault beneath the earth. She then fixed Halik and the man beside him with flashing eyes and said sweetly, "Son of Sha'ram Il'Yakif, I have another task for you and your companion."
Continue to Chapter 4 - Part VIII