Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 36

"And then she starts weeping afterward, moaning about the torture of Hell and Allah's retribution," Mundhir said, painting a vivid image of his interactions with the fairer sex on horseback, as we trudged through the plains of the Najd region, headed for Mu'awiyah's court.

In truth, I was still shaken by the confrontation with Qasim earlier, and it was a relief to be jesting among friends, as if there was not a worry in the world. I tugged at the pouch that dangled on Arslan's saddle.

I remembered its contents and shivered.

Before Qasim disappeared in the tent earlier, he had left behind a gruesome offering. A small sack with...a rotting finger within.

It was an index finger, ghastly of color with foul insects crawling in crevices within. But that was not what disturbed me. It was the size of it.

It belonged to a child.

Why would it be relevant to me? I wondered for the thousandth time, ignoring the small voice in the corner of my mind that harbored more than mere suspicion.

I shook my head on the saddle, clearing it of any melancholy theories.

"Don't get her wrong, you were probably torture as well," I replied, prompting a wave of giggles all around. It forced a smile even on 'Amr's face.

Though 'Amr and the Nubian had duties in Madinah behind, they resolved to escort us at least some leagues north on our journey.

"Ah, Hanthalah finally grew a tongue," Mundhir bit back.

"I'm sure all the women you lay with in the future hope the same is true for you."

Another wave of roaring laughter rippled through our lines and even Mundhir joined in.

"I suppose it's the only time he's glad for his height," another man, part of the entourage, called Salama joined in on the banter. "His head being on the same level with their chests standing upright and such."

I bumped Salama on the shoulder. "Do you think they've all formed an alliance of sorts, Salama? The victims of Mundhir's lousy services."

Salama scoffed and opened his mouth as if to say something, but he was cut short by an arrow shaft that stuck out of the side of his neck. Blood sprayed in a flash, and more slowly began seeping from the wound. Salama's eyes widened as he gagged and choked, clutching at his neck. He continued struggling for breath as the light faded from his eyes, still uncomprehending what just happened.

I was quicker to react, however. I hopped off Arslan to the far side of where the attack had come from, taking cover from whoever was ambushing us as a plethora of frantic screams erupted all around. I strapped my shield on my left arm in a split second and hefted my sword with my other hand.

Bandits were common on roads such as these, preying on whatever trade caravans or vulnerable travelers trudged through the sands. Merchants had taken a habit of raising private armies or hiring mercenaries or Bedouin warriors looking to earn extra coin or cattle, in order to reduce the chances of such an ambush during the perilous journey.

Mu'awiyah had traveled with a band of sixty or so swords and lances, a more than formidable force to fend off the gluttonous eyes of bandits or rogue nomads. I saw that Mu'awiyah's main entourage had become isolated from us. They were further south, trailing behind us.

Even so, these bandits must have been exceedingly careless to attack such a well-fortified procession.

Arslan flailed with his hooves, whinnying and spinning uncontrollably, forced into a frenzy at the smell of blood and the confused cries of alarm echoing from all directions. Men scurried across the plains, colliding with others in the carnage, while others rang the field with the sounds of their swords escaping baldrics and scabbards.