Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 10

          The mounted warrior spurred his horse forward, away from the ranks of his Muslim comrades and only reined in when he had crossed half the distance of the flatland that separated both armies.

Vahan, our field commander, had sent the command to initiate deployment on the morning of that day. It was after a fresh batch of reinforcements had joined the Muslims. It was not the first time we witnessed such a phenomenon.

We could see the enemy numbers swelling by the day, as we lagged in our camp, wasting our time with negotiation.

It seemed he was afraid he would lose his numerical advantage if this steady stream of troops continued to reimburse the enemy's ranks.

The Muslim army was positioned on the banks of a river, as were we. Both rivers were tributaries of the Dead Sea. The Muslims used a hill to protect their vulnerable left from an outflanking maneuver by the numerically superior Roman army. Their right flank, however, was more exposed, situated on a slight incline to the north of the battlefield, spilling into the outskirts of a nearby village.

Both armies were situated on the plains of the Yarmouk valley, flatlands that were well suited to cavalry charges. However, the Muslims and the Romans alike deployed their cavalry regiments in reserve, a distance away from the infantry lines.

Our ranks were dominated with heavy infantry, mainly pikemen and spearmen, while others were armed with short sword, all complimented with round, kite-shaped or rectangular shields, painted a dozen different hues and adorned with a diverse set of fierce animals or sigils in the Greek letter.

We, the auxiliary, were mixed in with the infantry units, used as skirmishers, clad in arms and armor that we owned ourselves. Most of us did not have the luxury of owning a leather jerkin, let alone chainmail. All I wore was a knee-high tunic over trousers and sandal boots.

As skirmishing units, we would primarily use our bows and javelins, striking the enemy from a distance, screening the inevitable infantry clash. The decision frustrated me for I wanted to be included in the melee; I had the skills for it as well as a Persian blade, and slaughter had more of a joy to it with sword in hand.

Now, positioned in a slightly more advanced line than the infantry, we watched in silence as the Arab warrior trotted forward and began undressing.

It was to be the deciding factor over the hegemony of the Levant. Though all the gains the Muslims labored for these past two or so years had been undone to gather at Yarmouk as one concentrated force, they could still very well regain their glory by breaking this one army that consisted of the majority of imperial forces.

The troops on the Roman side eyed the spectacle with mixed expressions of disturbed incomprehension and sheer awe. The rider removed his turban, the chainmail and tunic beneath.

He tossed his discarded garments at his horse's hooves, revealing an impressive physique; he was a hulking figure, broad of chest with arms thick as tree trunks and shoulders the size of boulders. Every inch of his body was taut with muscle, covered with a white sheen of sweat.

He flexed his massive chest muscles and roared a great bellow of defiance that quaked the ground beneath our feet. With bow in hand, I was on the front line, ready to cover the infantry advance when commanded, so I had a front row seat.

"I am the mighty Dhirrar ibn al-Azwar," he roared in Greek. "I am Dhirrar ibn al-Azwar ibn Malik ibn Aws ibn Jadhimah ibn Rabia ibn Malik ibn Sha'labah ibn Asad ibn Khuzaymah ibn Mudrikah ibn Ilyas ibn Mudar ibn Nizar ibn Adnan al-Asadi.

I am the death of pale faces! I am the killer of Romans! I am the scourge Allah has sent upon you," he paused, sucking in a breath before continuing. "I am Dhirrar ibn al-Azwar!"