Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 12

 Khalid tensed visibly as I approached, falling into stance, raising his shield. His sword was outstretched.

However, I halted a distance from him and tossed the head at his horse's hooves. The horse did not shy away from the scent of blood nor the grotesque image. Its bright red eyes darted from me to what remained of Dalmatius and again at me, foaming at the mouth. It snorted pleasantly.

A demon, indeed.

Khalid looked up at me and down again at Dalmatius.

"You stand Arab," he finally spoke. I wore no helmet, so my features were plain.

I nodded.

"Yet you fight for the Romans."

He sniffed and looked me up and down.

"You must be Ghassanid," he said in disgust, as though it were an accusation.

"Fought," I corrected him. "A thing born of necessity. And I do not claim descent from Ghassan."

"You betray your masters."

"I have no master," I bristled, struggling to push my roused rage below the surface, annoyed at his words.

I was no man's slave! And any who dared brand me such would see those they deemed loved ones perish before their eyes in the cruelest of manners!

Khalid scoffed and tugged at his horse's reins, wheeling his horse back to Muslim camp. He motioned for me to follow.

"I will see to your fate," he said. "Both of you."

Both? I twisted in my saddle and saw the Nubian at my horse's hindquarters.

Of course, I thought, rolling my eyes.

_____________

The Nubian and I sat in the gloom of Khalid's dimly lit tent, our hands and feet fettered.

I immediately regretted my decision.

Then again, it was foolish of me to expect a man shrewd as ibn al-Waleed to welcome me with open arms the moment I presented him a useless head.

The fourth day of the slaughter raged on in the flatlands beyond, and all I could do was chafe at the ropes that served as my bonds. The Nubian was still, offering no words and showing no signs of resistance or discomfort. An unusual fellow, indeed.

A towering man of a sinewy figure and a long face I remembered as Abu 'Ubaidah ibn al-Jarrah pushed open the tent flap after what seemed like a lifetime. He removed the bonds at our feet and motioned for us to follow him out of the tent.

It was past dark outside. We were grabbed by two brutes each, and they shoved us east, to the edge of the encampment. Toward no man's land that separated us from the ranks of the Romans.

I balked when I realized what they were doing, attempting to dart away or shoulder past my captors. I kicked at them, bit them, flailed with my head. But I was firmly entrenched. The Nubian did little to release himself.

They had shoved me to the very edge of the encampment when I howled the words that I knew would save me.

"I testify that there is no god but Allah and I testify that Muhammad is the Apostle of Allah!"

That gave them pause. The shuffling rolled to a stop.

"You would send a Muslim to his death at the hands of infidel?" I barked at them.

The brutes froze, unsure of what to do. Abu 'Ubaidah strode away deeper into the camp, lost to sight in the gloom.

When he returned, it was with Khalid ibn al-Waleed at his side. Well, Khalid and a substantial crowd of warriors and camp followers. Hundreds of men, women, children and slaves gawking at this novelty of an interaction.