Swords of Arabia: Betrayal by Anthony Litton

Turkish favour, in the latter at least, and events not too far to the north of them were putting immense pressure on the British-Indian forces in the region.
    Bowing his head slightly, he continued smoothly. “We hadn’t thought our alliance had lapsed. However. as I’m sure you are aware, the Sultan’s armies, along with those of his allies,” he emphasised gently but noticeably, “are rapidly pushing back the insolent British. And have recently done so on the very edge of Arabia!”
    “Yes, indeed,” cordially agreed Badr. “And we congratulate His Imperial Majesty on his recent victories, including that of his troops repelling the attempted break-out of some of the British forces at Kut al Armara,” he added casually.
    The whole of the delegation looked thunderstruck at his statement. They themselves, with the very latest in technology, had heard only scant hours previously of the attempt by some of the combined British-Indian forces to break out and thus avoid their otherwise inevitable surrender to the Ottoman armies encircling them. They were at a loss to know how the Narashi, with their primitive communications systems, were also fully aware of what indeed was a notable setback for the beleaguered force.
    Smiling slightly at the effect his words had caused and, for once, silently thanking Zahirah and Firyal’s intelligence systems, Badr, followed by Nasir, rose.
    “But enough of talk,” he said. “You must rest and refresh yourselves, for tonight we feast in welcome of our friends and tomorrow we can, perhaps, talk further.
    “Indeed,” replied the Ambassador, gracefully accepting the inevitable and also rising to his feet. “I wonder, I know it’s a little late in the season, but we have heard much of the good hunting in your country. Would it be possible for some of your warriors to accompany some of our younger members on such a hunt? I know they would greatly enjoy the freedom it would offer, after so long being restricted to the demands of our caravan.” Hiding their surprise, the Narashi regents agreed and each party left to both privately discuss the meeting and to prepare for the night’s festivities.

 
    Chapter Eleven
     
    Anyone observing the laughing, joyous party racing on priceless horses across the desert’s flat, gravelly surface, their sleek hunting dogs easily keeping pace, would not have known that there was a war to the death being fought in similar deserts not far away. But the early morning air was fresh, the party were young and freedom had its own exhilarating taste after the confines of the town, so they raced each other in laughing competition, their falcons left safely with their slaves and attendants to follow on at a slower, safer, pace.
    Ahead of them all was Talal, pushing his silvery horse ever faster in his bid to beat his young uncle for the first time in their friendly rivalry. The galloping riders were only yards from their target, an isolated patch of scrub, when he felt, rather than heard, a presence near his left shoulder and he hurriedly glanced around in irritation. It was Nasir, a grin of triumph on his face as he flashed past his annoyed nephew on his way to claim the prize.
    Nasir’s own victory smile disappeared rapidly, however, as he himself felt the wind of an approaching presence and he glanced to his side just in time to see Kerim pull level and then, in the last yards, pull ahead and reach the patch of scrub ahead of them all.
    “An excellent ride, my friend!” shouted the young officer, now dressed in the white flowing robes of his hosts, as he reined in his sweating mount and leant down to pat it’s neck affectionately, as the others reached him.
    “It was, until the last few paces!” grunted Nasir, his own spirits returning as he saw his nephew wearing a very un-ruler like scowl.
    “Hey, nephew, why the scowl? Don’t worry, you’ll beat me next time!”
    “That’s what you said last time!” retorted Talal, his own good nature and