Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

11 March 624 AD, 17 Ramadan 2 AH

         Mu'adh ibn 'Amr cried in alarm, pointing at the alerted water-carriers ahead. Mu'adh ground his teeth, spurred his mount forward with a nudge of his knees, clung fiercely to his reins as he hunched over his horse, his stomach flat on its neck.

          With determined grit, he rode with all his strength and vigor. He knew he must capture those two before they returned with those water skins to the Qurayshi caravan.

          The wind lapped at his hair, flapping behind him as the fleeing Qurayshis kicked up clods of sand in the pursuit, seeking the reins of their camels tethered to a sapling.

          Mu'adh left his brother and other companion in the dust of his horse's hooves behind him as he finally caught up with the polytheists. He yanked at his reins, tugging at them, wheeling his horse sideways so that he put himself between the two men and their mounts.

          He unsheathed his sword and pointed it in their direction as his two other companions blocked their retreat the other way. The polytheists dropped the water skins and sunk to their knees, hands over their heads in submission.

          The Prophet had entrusted Mu'adh, his brother Mu'awwidh and one other to act as the party's scouts – to gather intelligence about the Qurayshi trading caravan returning from Syria and to prevent them from being reimbursed with water and supplies.

           They were a day's march from the main Muslim camp. They knew the Quraysh would send riders to the well of Badr for water. Mu'adh grinned, dismounting before his captives, basking in his success.

          It was a massive honor to be entrusted with such responsibility from the Apostle of Allah himself. Especially when he had not quite seen seven and ten summers yet.

          "You are of the Qurayshi trading caravan?" Mu'adh demanded of them, making his voice deeper than it actual was in an effort to intimidate the polytheists.

          One man gulped in fear while the other only glared back in hatred. Neither answered the question. Mu'adh opted to prod the former further, since he was the weak link. He directed his blade in his direction, took a step forward and repeated the question slowly and deliberately, in a threatening voice scarcely above a whisper. Finally, the man lowered his head and began weeping softly.

         "No," he sobbed. "No. We are of the Qurayshi army."

         Appalled, Mu'adh took a step backward in shock, trying to process what he just heard.

        Army?

      

         'Amr ibn Hisham smirked grimly as his camel trotted along with the main column. Two slaves flanked the beast, yanking the reins forward to prod the animal along. 'Amr himself was seated on a makeshift chair, with a canvas screen flanking him to either side and shading him from the sun above as well as the sights of marching warriors behind. It was a hawdaj, a sort of carriage afforded only to those most powerful and magnificent.

         And could anyone deny Abu al-Hakam's power and magnificence?

         He was determined to make the entirety of Arabia tremble at the sound of those names. He was 'Amr ibn Hisham. He as Abu al-Hakam. He was the Lion. His wealth and glory were known to any sorry gutter rat in every corner of Arabia. Any man worth his salt knew to lap up at his praise and quiver at his wrath.

         All but that fool Muhammad. 'The Pharaoh of this ummah', Muhammad called him. 'Abu Jahl', he called him, which meant 'the Father of Ignorance'. Ibn Hisham knew Muhammad ibn 'Abdullah from when he was a boy. He had always been a pitiful excuse for a man.