Swords of Arabia: Betrayal by Anthony Litton Page A

high spirits returning in the sheer joy of being away from the town’s restraints. And, after all, he reflected, Nasir had himself been beaten, so the morning wasn’t totally without pleasure.
    “You ride well, Captain,” he said courteously, turning to the young Turkish officer.
    “I could say it was a host’s duty to let him be victorious, hence his win,” murmured Nasir
    “I would feel insulted if that were so!” rejoined Kerim.
    “I know. That’s why I said it!” rejoined Nasir and they both burst into laughter.
    Talal watching them, was amazed at their camaraderie. They were obviously the closest of friends, and yet family history told him they had known each other for only a few hours some three years previously. Of course, he thought, the circumstances in which they’d met and in which that friendship was formed, were somewhat stressful, and the occasion of the type that marked men, and bred a closeness not otherwise obtained. Nonetheless his gaze had more than a hint of wistfulness, as the party awaited the arrival of their attendants and the camels carrying the precious falcons, the reason for the morning’s outing. Despite his youth and friendly nature, he had, since his elevation to his father’s throne, found it hard to make friends. The only ones he had were from before his becoming ruler and even those now felt a little reserve in his presence, treated him with more respect and less open affection. Only his brothers and sisters ignored his new rank and continued to treat him as a much loved older sibling.
    Though respect would sometimes be welcome, thought Talal, ruefully rubbing the back of his head, still sore from where Khalid, his six year old half-brother, had hit him with a stick and run off laughing.
    He’d already learned the first lesson of ruling: that it was a lonely eminence and it was one he was not yet entirely sure he wanted. He was also far from sure that he had his father’s – or mother’s – absolutely natural drive for power, almost regardless of the consequences of that drive.
    But, laughing, he shrugged the thoughts away. Today, he was a boy! And as a boy he intended to enjoy the day’s hunting. Who knows, if he focused enough on the sleek raptors he could forget the large number of guards riding as closely as he would let them.
    Nasir turned and laughed as another rider joined them. “Well seen, nephew! We have been expecting you for some time! What kept you?”
    “Most amusing, uncle, most amusing,” scowled Fahad. “If my horse hadn’t stumbled I’d have won; most definitely I would!”
    Nasir laughed, though the younger man spoke with some justice. In a family of superb riders it was generally conceded that he was one of the best. “You insult me by your laughter, I am very tempted to give you a beating!” Fahad announced grandly.
    “Well, if you think you can best me,” murmured Nasir.
    “I don’t – that’s why I’ll not do it!” laughed Fahad, as happy as the rest to be out and riding free.
    Boys grow swiftly to manhood in the deserts, they have to. Even with swift maturity expected, however, Fahad had stood out from the rest. Ever since his role in saving Zahirah and his cousins he’d seemed older than his years. Now, at seventeen, he was regarded as a full man; so much so, he was soon to take a second wife.
    Their slaves having caught up with them, each took their own hooded bird onto the gauntlet protecting their left hand and wrist from the savage claws of the falcons. Then each rider gently stroked its feathers to calm the hooded bird and let it know that it was back with its owner. Even Kerim had a hawk on his wrist. A fierce hunter in his own lands, he’d arranged to have his own birds follow him out when, after a brief and eventful posting in Turkey itself, following the fall of al Hofuf, he’d been again sent back into Arabia.
    Then a cry from one of their slaves alerted the group to its arrival near the spot where the trackers had come