Free Swords of Arabia: Betrayal by Anthony Litton Page A

al Hofuf almost three years ago tells me the Ottoman are no longer fighters it’s wise to side with!”
    “We must meet them. I agree there’s little time to prepare our response but we need scarcely do that at the first meeting anyway. And to be fair, Nasir, we’ve known this day would come, so our thoughts have been much on the issue before this,” responded Firyal calmly. “Although we all would wish that this hadn’t come so soon after Talal became our emir. Allah knows, we have struggle enough on our hands reinforcing that, without this, this, new burden, but…” she ended, shrugging fatalistically.
    “I too would wish it otherwise, but events have ensured we will not have that respite, I fear,” responded Zahirah. She, knowing even more how insecure their grip on the throne still was, was even more alarmed than Firyal. She knew, however, that their freedom of movement scarcely existed in this, the bigger, conflict, threatening to sweep over the entire region. “You are right – we can be very sure the other party to this great war of theirs will also soon come knocking on our door. We are suddenly in great demand, are we not!” she laughed, with little real mirth. “One thing is certain, we have great and dangerous choices soon to be placed before us, and we will have little time in which to make that choice, little time at all,” she added.
    Events subsequently proved how right she was.
    ***
    The nail-studded double doors to the great central meeting chamber were thrown open and, with some fanfare and much dignity, the representatives of the Ottoman Empire strode into the room and down the aisle between the seated notables. The Ambassador, and most of his delegation striding in behind him, were in full military uniform, medals glittering in the harsh sunlight that poured in from the great window embrasures. In the middle of the day, only the room’s many fans, ensuring the constant movement of which was the prime duty of a number of slaves, kept its murderous heat at bay, allowing the occupants to breathe with at least some degree of comfort.
    Zahirah and Nasir had won the battle to have Talal always present on such formal occasions. As they said, he could learn little of ruling otherwise, and so it was that he sat on the raised dais flanked by his two uncles. As agreed, all would listen to what the embassy said, but only Badr or Nasir would actually speak in public. Nasir, as impassive as the others in the chamber, suddenly had to fight hard to control his features as his eyes came to rest on the tall, slim figure immediately behind the heavily built, middle-aged ambassador. The other person made no such attempt and his broad grin brought an answering one from Nasir.
    Kerim!
    Remembering protocol, he fought back his instinct to leap off the dais and embrace his friend. Instead he merely smiled warmly and remained seated by his nephew as the embassy reached the foot of the dais. The leader gave a slight bow to Talal, who nodded gravely back and courteously indicated the rich cushioning on the floor for them to be seated.
    After some small talk and the obligatory offering and consumption of refreshments, all served on the most opulent of Firyal’s many serving dishes, the Ambassador’s tone changed. “Highness, Lords, it is good to again be with men from a tribe long our allies,” he began. “We had hoped that we would, by now, be joined together with our brothers in battle,” he added pointedly. “We do understand of course, the shocking impact that the tragic death of your valiant father has had upon Narash.” he nodded respectfully to Talal who, as tutored, kept his face blank of all emotion as he gazed calmly back at the much older man. “That those events could do little but delay any riding to join us is entirely understandable.” he paused, then continued. “It is now some months since that dark day, however, and I understand that, grievous as the loss was, Narash is now attempting to