The Desert Falcon

Chapter 11, The Desert's Retribution

The impossibility of this situation began to dawn on me, as I pulled my hand away and examined my conflicted conscience, letting out a breath of disbelief. The conundrum of leaving this man, very much alive, in the desert to perish, was too big of a temptation. I needed to flee. I needed to escape, before I was recaptured.  It would do me no good to remain here if my identity was to be discovered, so aiding him should have been out of the question.  However, my conscience refused to part with the idea of helping him in any way I could.  Leaving him out here to dessicate away under the malicious heat of the sun was simply too unforgivable and too cruel to consider, despite owing him no loyalties.

I did not know where his horse was nor where his guards were. How and why did the Sultan deign to venture out this far?

Possibilities ran rampant in my mind. The urge to turn away and leave him rose within me, but for the life of me I could not seem to move from my spot, as the sun continued to beat down on me, the heat scorching. A soft breeze in the air, gently swirled against me, as I looked down contemplating what to do. His face looked somewhat serene and I wondered how long I had before he woke up and realized I was here.

I knew I should leave him. I should turn away and leave him to his own fate. However, my moral conscience struggled with the idea of leaving a man to cook in the desert. I needed to get him to safety and only then would I be able to escape, knowing that it was not by my neglect that he perished away.

I wondered if that was any better. I felt disgusted by the thought of removing the onus of responsibility of his fate by seeing to him long enough that he remained alive at my mercy, only to throw him back out and wash my hands of him.

It wasn't any wonder Night seemed to recognize the Sultan. He was no stranger to him. A painful groan emanated from his parched lips, as my eyes whipped to him once more. I did not have time to consider escape, as I spied two horses in the distance, approaching us. Their pace was hurried and something alerted me to the possibility of danger. I could flee, but one of them would only hunt me down.

As I watched them approach, the two slowed their steeds to a halt. I quickly placed my scarf over my mouth and nose, to hide my identity. One of them I quickly recognized as the Sultan's personal guard, while the other I could not make out clearly. I watched as he approached on horseback before discounting.  Ignoring my presence he made his way to  the Sultan and flipped him over, assessing him for injuries.

My gaze flitted over to the other one, dressed in a beige-colored riding habit and impossibly tall. He approached me, standing before me, and recognition hit. Sheikh Malik assessed me quickly attempting to make out my sex. I wondered briefly if he recognized me those weeks ago, but I knew he could not have for it had been too dark. "You. Who are you?" he commanded. He lifted away his own covering, revealing his familiar handsome features.

I bowed. "Your highness. My name is—"

"He's alive!" the man spoke, interrupting me. His tone was low, harsh and curt. There was a scar that graced his features, as he turned away from me, his gaze short-lived. "He is dehydrated and fatigued from heat. I cannot assess the full extent of his injuries here. We must get to shelter."

Sheikh Malik nodded and turned to me. "I do not know who you are, but you are in the presence of the Sultan and I am Sheikh Malik. The man on the ground is Sultan Rashid himself. We will need to make use of your home. If you allow us to treat the Sultan, we will reward you and your master handsomely."

My gray gaze found his and Sheikh Malik's own gaze narrowed as he attempted to make me out. I turned away quickly. "Your highness, I reside with Emir Mashir.  By all means, my master will have no qualms to lend aid."