Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (52 page)

Then
suddenly,
everything
changed
yet
again.
The
riders
swung
away
from
their
race
towards
the
town
and
headed
back
to
their
own
lines.
Though
relieved,
the
watchers
were
puzzled
until
a
dust
cloud
fast
approaching
from
the
south-west
heralded
the
arrival
of
the
al
Saud.

“
Ya Allah
!
They
must
have
flown
here!”
Mish’al
gasped,
as
stunned
as
the
rest
of
the
watchers.
He
was
scarcely
exaggerating.
Expected,
in
any
event,
almost
within
minutes,
the
Saudi
war
leader
had
yet
managed
to
arrive
even
more
swiftly.
The
mixed
feelings
of
the
defenders
were
clearly
not
shared
by
the
attackers.
Consternation
was
clear
in
their
every
action
as
they
hurriedly
manoeuvred
the
big
guns
to
be
facing
their
approaching
enemy.
They’d
quickly
realised
that
the
very
speed
of
their
hated
enemy’s
approach
meant
he
could
have
no
field
guns
with
him.

“Shall
we
attack
them?”
Mish’al
asked,
his
warrior’s
soul
aching
to
wipe
out
the
insult
of
the
guns
shelling
his
town.

Looking
at
the
now
partially
exposed
flank,
side
on
to
them,
Nasir
was
sorely
tempted
to
agree
and
order
a
swift
sortie.
However,
he
quickly
decided
against
it.
Their
first
duty
was
to
defend
the
town.
Any
setback
in
their
attack
on
the
Rashid
would
leave
it
vulnerable
to
either
Rashidi
forces
or
those
of
the
al
Saud,
the
latter
now
swiftly
coming
into
view.

Shaking
his
head
regretfully,
he
returned
with
the
others
to
the
ramparts
immediately
above
the
gateway,
now
safe,
at
least
for
the
moment,
from
the
heavy
shells.
He
watched
the
unruly
ranks
of
the
al
Saud
warriors
which,
the
group
on
the
tower
saw,
were
at
least
the
equal
of
the
combined
Ottoman/Rashid
forces,
come
to
a
halt,
out
of
rifle-range
of
their
enemies
rifles;
though,
not,
Mish’al
noted
hopefully,
from
that
of
the
bigger
guns.
Despite
the
young
warrior’s
fervent
hope,
however,
the
field
artillery
remained
still
as
each
side
silently
watched
the
other,
assessing
their
opponent’s
strength,
factoring
in
its
own
options
for
the
next
few,
crucial,
minutes.

Watching
them,
Zahirah
was
suddenly
certain
that
there
would
be
a
battle.
Both
wanted
Narash
so
badly
that
to
leave
now,
being
so
close,
was
not
an
option.
They
would
either
join
forces
and
attack
the
town
–
unlikely,
but
possible
–
or
they
would
fight.
Because
of
the
history
between
them,
she
knew
that
it
would
be
an
unusually
savage
battle
–
particularly
so
when
the
prize,
Narash
itself,
would
then
be
in
the
victor’s
grasp.

The
next
minutes
were
a
tense
time
for
the
watchers
in
the
town.
All
preparations
to
withstand
a
siege
had
already
been
done;
already
checked
and
re-checked
a
half-dozen
times.
They
had
nothing
left
to
do
but
watch
the
two
opposing
forces
outside
their
town;
one
a
bitter,
lifelong
enemy,
the
other,
until
recently
a
close
and
valued
friend,
both
now
seeking
to
crush
Narashi
resistance
and
take
the
town.

Bleakly,
the
watchers
knew
that
whichever
side
won
the
battle,
Narash
itself
would
be
unlikely
to
survive
the
victor’s
race
to
its
walls.
The
big
guns
would
be
decisive
and
whether
they
were
still
held
by
the
Rashidis
after
the
fight
or
had
come
into
the
possession
of
a
victorious
ibn
Saud,
they
would,
they
knew,
be
turned
swiftly
on
to
their
walls.

“Fetch
me
Daoud!”
said
Nasir
suddenly,
seeing
that
his
garrison
commander
wasn’t
yet
back
from
a
routine
reconnaissance
around
the
walls.
He
determined
to
re-check
everything
yet
again;
nothing,
after
all
was
ever
completely
perfect,
but
he
knew
that
everything
would
have
to
be
to
have
even
a
chance
of
survival
in
the
forthcoming
fight
that
all
now
saw
as
inevitable.

After
several
further
tense
minutes,
during
which
they
watched
the
two
opposing
sides
as
neither
made
any
move
to
either
attack
or
retreat,
Daoud
hadn’t
appeared
and
Nasir
looked
around
impatiently,
just
as
a
dusty,
blood-covered
messenger
arrived.
Nasir
recognised
him
as
one
of
the
garrison’s
longer
serving
men.