Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

(Cover image is the ruins of the ancient city Gortyn)

Umaymah bint Hanthalah gripped the hilt of her sword as she finally donned her clothes once more and buckled her scabbard. To avoid discovery, she swept the tail of her turban across her face, obscuring her features.

She stalked out of this densely wooded area she meticulously chose for this specific...task she had just completed.

The challenges she faced masquerading as a soldier in Father's army were monumental. More daunting than she had ever expected. Every day, every minute, every moment, she needed to be conscious of every move and every word and every eye upon her. It would not do to be discovered. Not at all.

The voyage via sea had been the worst of it; an absolute nightmare. All the Arab soldiers were cramped together in a confined space. The entire journey, she had to deal with the same individuals, see the same faces, perform the same duties. All while keeping her head down and trying to blend in lest she risk discovery from any superior officer.

It had been a miracle she had not been found out and thrown overboard. She managed to sneak onto a ship in the port city of Beirutus after stalking the marching column of the army from Damascus. She got lucky, Allah be thanked. As it turned out, Father had been entrusted with fresh batches of men unfamiliar to him. Men who had never trained with him beforehand. Therefore, they were complete strangers to Father's army.

On the ship, whenever her face was bare, the others paid her unfamiliarity no heed. They just assumed she was from the other group of soldiers.

Not that it made her quest any easier. Once they landed on the shores of this island, Umaymah fell on her knees and prostrated on the ground, giving thanks to Allah that the nightmare on wood was over. Fighting her churning belly all the while.

Now, she was faced with new challenges by the day. She needed to share a tent with several others as well as interact with any comrades as her camp duties saw fit. Once, she was selected as part of a group dispatched to the woods in a foraging mission.

And the greatest hurdle of all was the one she was performing right now...

Taking a shit.

All while trying to preserve her sanctity as a woman, as ordained by the Creator himself. There were limits to how a man should interact with a woman, even if she were one such as Umaymah bint Hanthalah. These were divine edicts that she knew that she must follow. Her sword would do her little in that regard.

But it served her well elsewhere. Very well.

She didn't know if she could have survived all these ordeals, this constant state of panic and anxiety, if it hadn't been for the combat. They would descend upon the villagers and the townsfolk with a fury, displaying the might of their arms as well as that of their religion.

Every night before she drifted off to sleep, her sword arm aching with the tension of hours of exercise, Umaymah would grunt in satisfaction at the promise of more to come.

To fight once more at the side of Father. It had been her dream since she was only a little girl. Now, a woman grown, she had finally realized that dream. On this island of Crete.

Umaymah fought back tears as she gently placed the bundle of logs on the earth where the campfire was set to be lit. The sky turned a deep red, the color of pomegranates. The setting sun a distant figure, only half-visible, with a lovely golden tint as well.

All praise be to Allah. He takes as He pleases and He gives as He pleases.

Then, there was the sound of steel scraping against leather. The sound of a sword being unsheathed.