Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

December 632 AD, Ramadan 11 AH

Wahshi ibn Harb panted as he pursued the fleeing apostate. The street between the two columns of sheds in this village was narrow and jagged, so Wahshi's pace was hindered in this unfamiliar terrain.

It had been hours since the general Khalid ibn al-Waleed ordered them to strike. This battle was the culmination of the Muslims' efforts these past few months to restore order.

Khalid almost single-handedly wiped out any hint of unrest in Arabia. He defeated the pretender Tulayha of Banu Asad at the Battle of Buzakha, sending him scurrying away with his tail between his legs, fleeing to Syria.

He struck down a tribal chieftain named Malik ibn Nuwayra who refused to pay the alms tax.

He defeated the chieftess Salma of Zafar and quelled her revolt.

In Yemen, a pretender to the prophethood had been assassinated.

Other generals subdued other apostate tribes all over Arabia in quick skirmishes, restoring them under the banner of Islam. Under the authority of Abu Bakr – the Khalifa, successor to the Prophet Muhammad.

Now, they were left to deal with the most troublesome of them all.

Musaylimah the Liar had actually risen to claims of prophethood since before the Prophet's death. He rallied his kinsmen of the Banu Hanifa and gathered a numerous force. Their stronghold was in a village in the region of al-Yamamah, to the east of Arabia.

Musaylimah and his infidels have been holding out strong for many a month. Abu Bakr hurled several armies at them, each one of them pushed back, sustaining heavy casualties.

But this time would be different, Wahshi knew. This time, the force was led by fabled general Khalid ibn al-Waleed himself. They were at the height of battle now, pushing the infidels back.

And it was not an easy one. They were outnumbered here as they were everywhere else. And Wahshi saw many a Muslim warrior fall to Musaylimah's troops' blades.

But the infidels gave ground all the same. They fell back under the pressure of Muslim determination, harrying them further back past their sheds and dwellings.

Wahshi continued his pursuit of his victim. He ground his teeth, allowing himself a fraction of satisfaction, seeing that he was gaining on him. Closer. Closer still. Only inches away –

Wahshi yelped in alarm as the man he was pursuing spun abruptly and hurled himself at Wahshi. Wahshi lost his grip on the javelin as they struggled on the ground. Wahshi grabbed the man's arms, seeing a glimmering dagger conjured as if from nowhere only mere inches from his throat.

The infidel above him was clenching his jaw as well. Both men grunted and groaned, heaved and struggled. With one final grunt, Wahshi raised his knee and struck the infidel between the legs. The latter howled in agony as Wahshi saw his opening.

Wahshi sat up and slammed his forehead into the infidel's nose, sending him sprawling off him with a crunch and a spray of blood. Wahshi scrambled to his knees, pryed the dagger from the man's feeble hands and placed it at his throat.

And sliced.

Wahshi moved away from the fountain of red that sprayed his face and retrieved his javelin.

It was the same weapon he used to kill Hamza all those years ago.

A crime he was still paying for, he thought to himself, as a passing Muslim warrior spat in his general direction. Wahshi had been ostracized among these new brothers of his, these past three or so years. He had been instructed to stay away from the Prophet, as far as possible. And he had only been met with scorn and disgust from so-called brothers.