Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) (12 page)

"I can, and I shall. First, you must sleep. Then we will see about having you properly clothed. It would be good if you were to train in Bedouin warfare. You must also think like a Bedouin and not be too trusting of others."

"Yes, I see what you mean. I followed those assassins as trustingly as a newborn lamb being led to the slaughter."

"You have much to learn of our ways, my friend. But there will be those who are eager to teach you."

At last Michael had tangible hope that he would find his father. "I'm impatient to learn anything you can teach me. I now know that I came to your country ill equipped."

"It is good that you know this. But the desert yields her secrets slowly. If your father is still alive, he will be alive when you are better prepared to rescue him." Prince Khaldun clapped Michael on the back. "All will be well, my friend. We will leave it in the hands of Allah."

Chapter 14

Michael found it difficult to curb his impatience. Time had little meaning to these desert people. Three weeks had passed since he'd arrived at the hidden kingdom, and he was still no closer to finding his father than he had been in Cairo.

Michael had not been idle. Each morning he was up early, tirelessly training. He practiced with the best warriors of the Jebeliya. His wounds had healed, and his sword arm was becoming strong. He had been a student of the greatest fencing master in Europe, and those skills now served him well. He used his agility and knowledge in the daily contests. In no time, he could wield a scimitar and split a melon from the back of a galloping horse.

The day of his most glorious triumph came when he beat the Jebeliya champion three bouts in a row. Thus he was honored as the new champion. Michael was also learning that Khaldun's people were generous with those they liked, for that day he won the bouts, the whole tribe cheered, but no one louder than the defeated champion.

Michael adapted easily to the native dress, which was not as confining as his English clothing. His robe and headdress were black, the kaffiyeh held in place by three golden cords befitting a man of his high rank. He exchanged his heavy English riding boots for the lighter Bedouin boots, which were more suitable for the desert.

The city of Kamar Ginena, which, translated, meant moon garden, had been built seven hundred years earlier by the Jebeliya. Many of the tribe were descendants of freed slaves, and on rare occasions, children were born with blue eyes and light-colored hair.

Michael discovered that the Jebeliya were also fierce warriors and were feared by most of the bedouin tribes. Few ever challenged them, and no one entered their city without permission. They had great pride and loyalty, and were devoted first to the tribe and second to their families.

The city itself was fed by twelve underground springs and bloomed like a beautiful garden. Food was plentiful there, and what couldn't be grown or made in the city, was acquired from the caravans that passed on the route three days' journey to the south.

Michael had become friends with Yanni, the fierce captain of the guard. Yanni taught him many ways to survive in the harsh desert, and how to live off the land if he was ever lost.

When Michael heard that Yanni was preparing to make the journey to meet a caravan, he volunteered to go along. Khaldun agreed that Michael was ready for his first excursion into the desert.

Khaldun and his escort rode with them until noon the first day. When the prince turned back to the city, he smiled and raised his hand. "Yanni, bring back my friend in one piece." His laughter rang out. "And see that he doesn't scar his pretty face, or the women of our city will weep."

There was a strong comradery between the twenty black-robed men that rode silently across the desert. On they rode in silence as the ever-shifting wind covered all traces left by their horses' hooves.

Michael's muscles were hard, his sword arm true, and he had a confidence he'd not had before. He was a warrior, trained, molded, and honed by the fiercest fighting men in the world. There was no fear in his heart, and no feat he would not attempt.

The first night, they set up camp behind a huge sand dune, the black tents blending in with the night sky. Guards were posted on top of the dunes so they could observe anyone who might approach from any direction. In some ways, Michael thought these bedouin were like children, laughing and enjoying life. That night they sang songs and joked among themselves. By then Michael had learned enough of their language to laugh at their jests.

By daylight on the third day, they were nearing the caravan trail. Before they topped a hill, Yanni held up his hand, and the men came to a silent halt.

"My ears tell me there is trouble," he told Michael. "Can you hear the sounds of battle?"

Michael shook his head, but listened until he did indeed hear the clashing of swords. Without an issued order, each man drew his sword, and urged their horses up the hill and over the top.

Michael rode beside Yanni, his sword ready, his jaw set with determination.

It took only a moment to assess the trouble. The caravan was small, with just thirty camels, and the merchants were hopelessly outnumbered by their assailants.

The black-robed Jebeliya came charging down the last sand dune, their swords clashing with those of the attackers.

Although they were outnumbered, the tide of battle was soon turned in favor of the powerful Jebeliya. At one point, Michael found himself surrounded on all sides by the enemy. He swung his sword with precision—attack, withdraw—attack, charge. Sweat blinded him, and blood made the sword slippery in his hands. He yielded his sword with a vengeance—slashing, cutting, unaware of anything but the battle that raged.

He was no longer the pampered English lord. All semblance of civilization had been stripped from him as he fought, to kill or be killed. There was no fear in his heart, and no remorse for the men who fell beneath his sword.

Soon someone came up behind him, and he swung to meet the foe. "Have done, my friend." Yanni laughed. "Can you not see that you have won the day?"

In a daze, Michael looked down at the dead enemy strewn on the ground at his feet. Today was the first time he had taken a human life, and he suddenly felt sick inside. At the time of battle, he'd thought only of surviving. Now he had time to consider his actions. He turned away from the tribesmen who were stripping the dead of their possessions.

"The first time is always the hardest," Yanni told him with great insight into what he was feeling. "But do not waste your sympathy on these dung beetles, they are of an enemy tribe. They are of the same tribe that brought you into the desert when I rescued you."

"Prince Khaldun's uncle's tribe?"

"Sidi has the loyalty of many tribes, and this one has no honor. They prey on caravans and think nothing of killing for profit."

The leader of the caravan came forward, bowing several times before Michael, and holding out a small open chest, filled with gold coins. Michael didn't understand what the man was saying, so he turned to Yanni to translate.

The captain of the guard laughed and took the chest, placing it in Michael's hand. "He calls you Akhdar 'em Akraba, the green-eyed scorpion. He says your sting is deadly and your name will be feared by all that hear it. He begs you to take this small token of his gratitude."

Michael shook his head and pushed the chest away. "Tell him I don't want his gratitude or his treasure."

"You must take it, to refuse would be an insult to him." Yanni laughed. "This poor excuse for a man will tell everyone how the green-eyed scorpion saved his caravan. By the time he reaches Cairo, you will be legend."

Michael reluctantly took the chest and placed it in his saddlebag. He then dismounted and walked a little way from the caravan, praying for a breeze to cool him and carry away the stench of death. Uncapping his flask, he dashed water in his face and took a deep drink.

He didn't feel like a legend. He only hoped he wouldn't be sick.

Drawing in another deep breath, he felt the heat scorch his lungs. When he was able to face the others, he walked back down the hill to his horse. If the Jebeliya knew what he was feeling, none spoke of it.

While Yanni traded with the caravan, Michael sat beneath a makeshift tent he'd constructed by draping his flowing robe over his sword. He was aware of the many glances of respect that were cast his way, but he didn't feel he deserved the admiration. He could only wonder what his father would think of him if he'd witnessed the battle.

Michael was glad when the transactions had been completed and they were on their way back to Kamar Ginena. He had learned something about himself today— he was capable of killing without mercy. He only hoped he never had to do it again.

Michael would never know how it had happened, but news of the battle had preceded the returning heroes, and the people of the city lined the roadway, cheering as they entered the gates. Long after Michael had entered the palace, he could still hear the people chanting, "El Akraba the scorpion, the scorpion."

Khaldun was not among the throng that welcomed them, so Michael surmised the prince must be out of the city. He went directly to his room in the palace and bathed, scrubbing away the blood, but he could not rid himself of the disgust he felt for what he had done.

Michael lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He'd become as ruthless as any bedouin that roamed the desert. He was no better than Sheik Sidi Ahmed.

Hearing a knock on his door, he moved off the bed and opened it to find Khaldun's body servant. "My prince has asked if you will accompany me to the royal quarters. The king desires to meet you."

Michael pulled on his robe and followed the servant, happy that Khaldun's father was well enough to receive a visitor.

He was led into a room were sunlight poured through stained glass, sending sparkling prisms dancing against the white walls.

Prince Khaldun came forward to greet Michael and escorted him to the man who was propped against pillows on an arched divan. Michael knew the veiled woman beside him would be Khaldun's mother, the queen. The king was pale, and his eyes were drawn in pain.

"Welcome, Lord Michael, friend of my son," he said in a surprisingly boisterous voice. "Since you are a brother to my son, that makes you a son to me."

Michael stood before the man, knowing he had been great in his time, because power still emanated from him even in his weakened condition.

"You do me honor, Your Majesty."

"We were told of your actions in defending the caravan, and your exploits will be spoken of for many years to come." He smiled, easing the harshness of his expression. "I am told they have placed a title on you."

"It would seem so, Your Majesty. But I felt no pride in what I did. Condemn me for speaking frankly, sire, but I feel only shame."

The king shook his head. "It is well that you feel this way. A man should never grow so hardened that he finds pleasure in the taking of a life. Although many do, even some among my people." The king shifted his weight and grimaced in pain. "However, I would ask you to put your remorse aside because the same people you killed are indeed the people who hold your father captive. They are ruthless and shameless. You need not mourn their passing."

Michael's eyes widened. "You know where my father is being held?"

"Our spies tell us of a tall Englishman who is imprisoned at Caldoia, the stronghold of the traitor, Sidi Ahmed."

Michael tried to speak, but he had to catch his breath before he found his voice. "Are your spies certain it is my father?"

"I am assured it is the duke of Ravenworth."

"Is he well?"

"Of this I have no knowledge. But I do not think even Sidi would dare harm so important a man."

"I must go there at once, Your Majesty. I must try to reason with Sheik Sidi and ask him to release my father."

"No! This you cannot do. Do I not know that my brother-in-law would like to capture you also? Did he not already try and fail?"

"Then what shall I do?"

"You will bide your time. We will find a way that is the least dangerous to your father. I warn you, if we are precipitate, my brother-in-law will most certainly kill your father."

"I have been patient, Your Majesty, and I will continue to be so, if you think it best. Just to know my father is alive is more than I hoped. I must send word to my mother at once."

"Yes, you must write your mother. But before you leave, may I present my queen to you? She wishes to thank the man who saved our son."

Michael stood speechless as the queen rose and threw off her veil. She was dressed in yellow silk, with dark hair and dark eyes. She must once have been a great beauty, for she was still a handsome woman. "I am . . . honored to know . . . you, brother of my son," she said haltingly. "And I am . . . grateful to you that I still have a son." Keeping her face uncovered, she sat beside her husband and smiled at Michael.

Khaldun kissed his mother's cheek and joined Michael. "My mother does not speak English, but she learned these words so she could say them to you."

"I am greatly honored," Michael said, bowing respectfully before the queen. He had heard enough about Moslem customs to know that a man who was not a family member would never be allowed to see the faces of their women, and especially not the face of a member of the royal family.

The king spoke again. "We honor you further, Lord Michael, as a father honors a well-loved son. From this day forward, you will have the privilege of dining with our family, addressing our women, and sitting in our presence."

Michael was filled with emotion when he glanced at Khaldun. He saw pride in his friend's eyes, and he knew their bond went beyond friendship. They were truly like brothers.

"There is another reason you are here tonight. I would ask a favor of you, Michael," Khaldun said expectantly, as if he were going to ask something of great importance.

"Anything you want from me, you have only to ask."

"My bride, Princess Yasmin, will begin her journey from Sawarka in one week. I would be pleased if you would lead the honor guard to escort her here."