— 10 —
Tariq slept fitfully, awakening almost every hour. He was fully awake by five o’clock in the morning. He stared through the jail bars and could just barely make out the sun as it slid up in the sky. He felt the warmth on his face and closed his eyes. Would this be the last time he felt the sun? Would this be his last sunrise? He was placing his life, his fate, in the hands of total strangers. His plan had all seemed so impossible. How was it possible that Zahir did not suspect him? Any moment, he expected Zahir to bust through the dungeon door and drag him off to the gallows. But Zahir never showed his face. The rest of the prisoners slept peacefully.
Water dripped from the dungeon ceiling, smacking Tariq on the cheekbone. He did not move. The cool water felt good on his skin. He stuck out his tongue and felt the cool drips wet his mouth.
He stared out onto the sand and felt scared. Who was he? Just a simple orphan boy. He was worthless in the eyes of most. He was nothing. He had no real family. He had nobody that believed in him. Why was he even trying to escape? Maybe being a slave was the best thing for him, like Jawad. He looked at the sleeping boys. Maybe this was his place on the earth, maybe he was destined to be a poor and starving camel jockey and die an early death.
Sighing, he sat down and felt the weight of his troubles on his small shoulders. He did not understand his emotions. He should have been overjoyed with the thought of escaping this place. But what did he have to escape to? Where would he go? His future was entirely uncertain. Worse, he had dragged Fez and Aseem into this mess. What if he got them killed as well? He was no leader.
He thought about calling off the plan, but that was impossible. If he did not escape, Zahir would kill him for sure, once he figured out Tariq could not ride well. He had to go through with it. But maybe he didn’t need to get his friends involved. Maybe they could go about with their lives and he could simply die in the desert?
He decided to leave his friends out of it. That was his plan. He would tell Aseem and Fez that things had changed and to ride hard as usual rather than stay back with him. He would face this danger alone. And suddenly, he felt alone. All the adrenaline of the past month had subsided and he now felt terribly alone in the world.
In the harem quarters, Margaret also lay awake. But her thoughts were not of self-doubt, they were of her family. She could not stop thinking of them. How she missed their smiling faces. She saw her father’s face in her mind. His blond hair flowing in the sea breeze. The crow’s feet around his blue eyes. How handsome he was. She suddenly realized how much her father meant to her. Even though he had been largely absent in her life, it was his voice she heard in times of fear and doubt, instructing her to be strong. She had always known the unconditional love of her family, and that gave her a real strength. Amazingly, she didn’t find herself afraid. In fact, she was looking forward to the escape. She hated this place and found herself dreaming of home. She thought of breakfast at her family’s home—fresh eggs, bacon, and biscuits with fresh butter and strawberry jam. Her mother’s voice coming from the kitchen. She missed the simple things the most. This place, this harem, seemed like a bad dream to her, like a nightmare from which she would wake at any moment.
Margaret promised herself she would escape even if it meant killing someone. No matter the cost, she would see her home and her family again.
At seven o’clock in the morning, the monkey woke the sleeping boys. They quickly arose and waited to be marched to breakfast and a bath. It was race day! Although it was infinitely dangerous, it was also a detour from their meager day-to-day existence and a chance for a little glory.
Jawad walked up to Tariq.
“How are you feeling, Tariq?” he asked.
“Not bad, and you?”
“Just two more races and I have my freedom. I could not be happier,” Jawad said.
“Jawad, I am truly happy for you, if that is what you want.”
“Thanks, Tariq. Have a good race.”
“You too.”
Jawad walked away and Tariq was joined by Aseem and Fez.
“So what’s the plan for today?” Fez whispered.
“Nothing. It was a mistake. Please, both of you ride as hard as you can. I will be fine,” Tariq answered.
“Tariq, I’ve seen you ride. You will not be fine. We are your friends and we will help you,” Aseem said.
“No, everything is fine. Please do not worry. Both of you race well,” Tariq said.
Aseem looked at him and did not believe him. His head was down and he could not make eye contact. He did not understand Tariq’s sudden change of thought and it troubled him. First, he was expecting them to finish behind with him and now he wanted them to race hard? It made no sense.
“Tariq, what has happened? You seem different. Please tell me.”
“Aseem, it was just a dumb idea, that’s all. You and Fez finish as fast as you can.”
Aseem stopped and looked Tariq directly in the eye.
“Tariq, if you are planning to escape, then you must take Fez and me with you. We will not last long here, do you understand?” Aseem said.
“Maybe you would be better off here, Aseem. Did you ever think of that? Your own father sold you out. What do you have to go back to? You’re probably better off being a camel jockey and living here. At least you have a place to sleep and food to eat!” Tariq yelled at him.
Aseem cocked his right hand and punched Tariq square in the lip, knocking him down. Tariq felt the blood ooze from his lip. Thankfully, the soft sand cushioned his fall.
“You are not my friend, Tariq,” Aseem said and walked away.
Fez stood over Tariq and offered him his hand.
“We’re all scared, Tariq. We’re just kids. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re still my friend.”
Tariq glanced at Fez, who looked so young and innocent. He was so small and had such a good heart. The sting of the cut had jolted Tariq back to reality.
“You’re a good boy, Fez. You are my friend as well.”
Fez walked off and Tariq felt lonelier than ever. Had he done the right thing? He had been sure of it this morning, but now he had his doubts. All this stress was taxing him and preventing him from thinking clearly. He didn’t know what he would do next. He didn’t know if he even wanted to escape anymore.
At the harem quarters, Margaret was fully dressed and waiting with the other girls.
“Has anyone seen Fatima?” someone asked.
Nobody in the harem said anything and just looked around at one another.
“She went to bed last night, but was not there when I woke up,” one of them said.
“Perhaps she has special privileges and went ahead of us?” another surmised.
The mystery of Fatima soon faded to the background. She was not particularly well-liked within the group, so her disappearance was not seen as a tragedy.
Margaret spied Sanaa up in front, but neither of them made eye contact. Margaret simply kept her head down, her eyes focused on the ground.
Soon, the door opened and the harem women were shuffled out. The progression of the harem was quite a spectacle. A group of sentries surrounded them for security as they walked through the kasbah streets. Three younger girls walking in the front spread flower petals along the ground for the harem to step on. The oddest thing was that the entire crowd had to turn their backs to the harem as they marched past them. It was eerie—forty or fifty women dressed all in white passing through walls made by people’s backs. Everyone yelled and cried and whooped and hollered as the harem walked by. They were not allowed to look at them as they passed, which only added to the mystery.
After a long walk through the streets, the harem was escorted to a large stage with dozens of rugs decorating the floor. Hundreds of kilim pillows lay around the stage for the harem to lie upon. A large white canopy protected them from the sun. Assistants used peacock feathers to fan the girls. In front of the stage sat the Caid’s throne. This time, however, a smaller throne was placed alongside the Caid’s—this was the throne of his son. Crowds had already gathered outside. Dozens of sheiks and warlords had arranged their own tents alongside Caid Ali Tamzali’s.
Margaret lay down upon some pillows and watched as the sheiks set up their tents and officials prepared the race stage. Usually, the harem would wait for an hour or so before the entrance of Caid Ali Tamzali.
Sanaa came and lay next to Margaret.
“Just before the Caid arrives, we will excuse ourselves by saying we are going to the bathroom. We will be escorted by a guard. It is very important that you stick close to me,” she whispered.
“What happens then?” Margaret asked.
“Do not worry about that. Just ensure that you accompany me to the restroom. We have a plan. I am going to go now. I don’t want to look suspicious by talking with you.”
Margaret lay there and felt her heart pounding. All she knew was that Sanaa had an escape plan and it would be very dangerous. As her heart beat fast in her chest, she heard her father’s voice in her head.
Do not be afraid, Margaret. You are protected and I am looking out for you.
At once, Margaret felt a calm come over her. She pictured her father’s face in her mind, and his confidence seemed to channel itself through her body. She was not afraid. She was exhilarated.
She was going to escape.
The boys saddled and prepared their camels. Tariq talked to no one—not Fez, not Aseem. He felt a huge weight on his body and his heart felt very, very heavy. He couldn’t have known it, but he was allowing a deep, insecure part of himself to control his actions—the scared, fearful part that is in almost everyone. Only instead of suppressing it, he was allowing it to rule him. His fears overcame his common sense. The weight of these fears caused him to have trouble breathing. He felt like he might cry.
“I am nothing, I am nothing,” he repeated in his head. Negative thoughts overtook his thinking.
The camels marched in single file through the streets and took their place at the starting line. Moments later, trumpets sounded as the arrival and entrance of the Caid drew near. Tariq could barely look at his friends. He stared at the ground. In a few moments the race would begin.
“That is our cue,” Sanaa whispered to Margaret after returning to her side. The trumpets meant the Caid was only moments away from arriving. They went to the head guard.
“My friend is having some girl problems. We must go to the restroom,” Sanaa said.
“The Caid has not arrived. You must stay until he has arrived.”
“If you don’t want a mess on your hands, then you’d better let us go!” Sanaa asked sternly.
The guard understood immediately the problem at hand.
“Please escort these two to the ladies’ room,” he instructed a nearby assistant.
The guard assigned to accompany them was a young boy of about twenty. He stood in front of the girls and marched them through a side alleyway to a restroom reserved for members of the harem. It was intentionally secluded, away from the crowds to ensure the privacy of the harem. The guard stood outside as Sanaa and Margaret entered the restroom.
Once inside, Sanaa was quick to act.
“Here, put this on. You will look like any other Arab woman,” she said, tossing Margaret some common clothes.
The two of them quickly undressed and changed into their new outfits. They would fit in perfectly with the crowd. The veils covered their faces so nobody would recognize them.
Sanaa produced a twelve-inch dagger from her waistline. She slowly made her way along the wall opposite the sentry. Quickly checking to be sure there were no witnesses, Sanaa stepped up, covered the man’s mouth with her left hand, and slit his throat with the dagger. The man struggled and convulsed and tried to fight, but Sanaa’s technique was perfect. Her wrists carefully twisted his neck so he couldn’t use his torso to pull away. She stood close to his body to avoid being hit by flailing elbows and feet. In a matter of seconds, the man was dead.
“Help me drag him,” Sanaa ordered.
Margaret assisted in dragging the corpse into a stall in the bathroom. Margaret stared at the man’s lifeless eyes staring back at her. She had already steeled herself for anything that might happen and did not allow a dead body to rattle her, as it might have a week ago. Locking the bathroom door behind them, Sanaa performed a quick cleanup of some of the blood and covered the rest with sand.
“Let’s go. Follow me!” Sanaa ordered.
The two women, now in disguise, quickly made their way out and hurried to a nearby building. The crowd and guards were thoroughly entertained by the entrance of the Caid and eagerly awaited the beginning of the race. Sanaa and Margaret easily crept by undiscovered until they found themselves at the stables.
“You said you could ride a horse, right? A camel is not much different. Just put your feet in the stirrups and hold on. Let your body ride with the animal. You will be fine,” Sanaa instructed.
Sanaa went about saddling the camel with some help from Margaret. Within minutes, both camels were saddled. But before they could climb into the saddles, Margaret heard footsteps.
“Someone is coming. We must hide,” Margaret whispered.
The two women took their saddled camels and hid behind two water barrels in the end corral. Within moments, a guard came waltzing into the stable. He wasn’t particularly alert and seemed to be making his rounds.
Nonchalantly he walked down the length of the stable, gently tapping his hand with a hard wooden stick. He casually checked each stall until he spied the two saddled camels in the back. Alerted, his footsteps picked up and he made his way to the end stall. As he stood with his back turned to the water barrels he scratched his head, puzzled as to why two camels might be saddled.
Sanaa sprang into action, grabbed the man by the neck, and plunged her dagger across his throat. But the man was quick and managed to partially block the dagger with his hand. Blood spurted from his palm and he winced in pain. If his wits had been about him, he would have yelled and alerted some other guards. In such a surprise attack, he was merely trying to fight for his life.
Sanaa jumped on his back; he kneeled down and threw her to the ground. She landed hard, losing her grip on her dagger. Immediately he was on top of her. The two struggled until the man overpowered her, pinning both her arms to the ground. He reached for his own knife and slowly brought it down to her throat. Sanaa struggled to keep his weight off her, but he was too strong. Seeing the murder in his eyes and the contentment on his face, she realized she could not escape. She prepared herself for the moment when the blade would slice her exposed throat.
“Please…,” she muttered, but the man did not care. He was going to kill this woman.
The Caid entered the grounds to his usual fanfare and pageantry. The crowd’s attention was completely focused on him and his entourage. He was flanked by his son and also by Zahir, who acted as the Caid’s personal security guard. Zahir looked stoically about the crowd, thoroughly pleased with his prominence. The Caid appeared tired and bags formed under his eyes. His son was quite a bit younger. He was tall and thin and walked with an air of arrogance, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the crowd. The two sat in their respective thrones. The Caid gave a gentle nod to the headmaster to start the races. In an instant, buglers began playing and the racers escorted their camels to the starting line.
Tariq looked over at Aseem and Fez. Aseem refused to meet his eyes, while Fez gave him a small smile. Jawad seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the affair and smiled at the crowd.
The headmaster fired his rifle in the air and then shots from a hundred rifles from the tents of the sheiks rang out. The camels dashed off in an instant, and the race was on.
For the first mile, the group rode in a pack as everyone settled in. They rounded a sand dune and were soon out of view of the kasbah. On the ridge of the dune, security sentries could be seen on their own camels with glints of their rifles reflecting in the sun.
Tariq, holding his own amongst the pack, suddenly felt the pain return in his wrists and thighs. With each passing minute, it became more grueling to hold on, and he had to slow down his camel. The other riders surged past him, including Fez and Aseem. The pack sped ahead. Soon, Tariq was left alone—twenty, fifty, a hundred, and then two hundred feet from the last rider. He rode as hard as he could, but the pain was excruciating. After two miles, he saw no sign or hope of a rescue, just choking dust from the other riders and sentries on either side of him.
He was trapped, with no way to escape.
Zahir wandered among the tents saying his “hellos” and paying special attention to the more important sheiks. Finally, he made it to the tent of Hari Kazim. The sheik was hosting a small party, and several other prominent sheiks were in attendance.
“Zahir, my dear friend, come join us for some pomegranate juice and delicious lamb,” Hari Kazim said, welcoming Zahir.
“Don’t mind if I do. Your lamb is some of the best,” Zahir said warmly. He was feeling extra confident.
“Everyone, Zahir and I have a small wager on today’s race. No doubt he is coming to pay me my winnings in advance, considering his rider,” Hari Kazim said to laughs from the crowd.
Zahir, always hating to be embarrassed, smiled and announced boldly.
“Actually, I was coming to see if you wanted to double the wager.”
There were small gasps from the crowd and a bit of grumbling. This was just the sort of drama that people loved to see at the races.
“Do you have that kind of money, Zahir?” Hari Kazim asked.
“It is a pittance to me,” Zahir said casually, more than a little upset by the rudeness of the inquisition.
“Then consider it done. My dear Zahir, you are as bold as you are courageous. I like a man of daring. Let us toast to our wager and laugh at our winnings or losses,” Hari Kazim raised his glass with Zahir and the rest of the crowd.
Hari Kazim knew that Zahir would lose, and he had to be delicate in his proceedings. Once he won the bet, he would have to collect from Zahir, which would take a good amount of finesse. His toast was a gentle offer to Zahir’s good graces. He didn’t want to publicly embarrass him too much. News of his losses would spread, and that would be embarrassment enough.
“Yes, and you are a man of courage as well, Hari Kazim. Let us toast our good fortune as allies.”
Like most gambling addicts, he was addicted to the adrenaline of the wager. In his vivid imagination, he had scammed Hari Kazim and his winning outcome was assured. The thought of losing never really entered his mind— he was blinded by the delusion of winning and the feeling of power.
Zahir wanted to be in this tent when his rider came across the winner. He wanted to see the look on Hari Kazim’s face and the admiration on the faces of the crowd.
Raising his glass and feeling the sweetness of the wine trickle down his throat, he secretly laughed at the idiot Hari Kazim.
The dagger was only inches from Sanaa’s throat. She felt the warmth of the man’s breath on her face, and felt his heavy weight beginning to crush her. She had only seconds left, and she began to panic. She was sure this would be her death. Her breathing accelerated and she began to hyperventilate. Tears streamed from her cheeks.
The dagger edged closer when…
The man collapsed on her—he let out a coughing spasm and took his last breath—dead. All his weight was on Sanaa as his dagger fell harmlessly to the floor. She rolled the man off of her and saw Margaret standing above them, holding Sanaa’s bloody dagger. The girl looked as if she had gone into shock. Her face was white, her eyes wide with excitement.
Quickly, Sanaa composed herself and stood up. Taking the dagger from Margaret’s hand, she wiped off the blood and returned it to its hiding place within her robe.
“Thank you, Margaret. You saved my life,” Sanaa said, eternal gratitude in her voice.
Margaret swallowed hard, nodded her head, and began breathing normally. She had saved Sanaa’s life, and somehow that made complete sense. The man would have killed Sanaa for sure, and then probably killed Margaret as well. If she hadn’t acted, Margaret never would have seen her father again. Never would have tasted her mother’s homemade biscuits or slept in her own bed in the English countryside.
She did what she had to do in the moment. Actually, a bit of pride came over her as they mounted their camels.
“Put your veil on and follow me. No matter what, do not stop. Do you understand?” Sanaa instructed.
“Yes.”
In an instant, the camels were out of the stable and riding through the streets. Sanaa had a route pre-planned—to circle to the back of the kasbah where there were no crowds and few guards. They wouldn’t really gain attention, and most guards would simply think they were a couple of women out riding for an errand.
But after they made it through the streets, the plan became dangerous.
Their route took them directly past the Caid’s tent and followed the racers into the desert. Hopefully, the chaos would be enough of a distraction that the two women would pass unnoticed.
They gathered momentum and soon the camels were almost sprinting. Margaret proved to be a very capable rider and easily moved with the rhythm of the camel. Eight years of horse riding back in England had served her well.
Sanaa saw the crowds of people in the distance and followed their planned route. Two small fences about twenty feet apart marked where the racers had entered and made for a perfect segue into the desert.
There was only one problem. A small piece of wood had been placed between the fences as a barrier. Sanaa had not counted on this.
“Can you jump?” She yelled at Margaret.
“On a horse I can!” Margaret replied.
She saw the barrier and immediately understood the issue. Giving a small nod to Sanaa, Margaret loosened the reins and urged the camel to go on faster. As an equestrian rider she had jumped her horse hundreds of times. But a camel?
Sanaa was the first to jump and easily cleared the barrier. She looked back at Margaret, who took the jump in perfect stride. The landing went well, but her right foot came loose from the stirrup. Her entire body shifted to the right and she was suddenly halfway off the camel. The camel, feeling less weight, decided to go into a full gallop and sped by Sanaa and her ride. Margaret was holding on by just a strap. She had to summon the strength to pull her entire body up with just her left hand. As she began to panic, she again heard her father’s voice in her head and saw her mother’s smile in her mind’s eye. In an instance, Margaret calmed herself, focused on the strap, and pulled with every bit of strength she could summon. Slowly she edged up the saddle, finally pulling herself all the way up. She was now square in the saddle. She placed both feet in the stirrups and kept riding as if nothing had happened.
The Caid and his son looked at one another. Zahir had returned and was standing directly behind the Caid.
“What was all that about?” the Caid asked.
“I’m not sure, my master,” Zahir replied.
“Send some soldiers after those two. I don’t think they were part of the race. They were dressed like women.”
A murmur came through the crowd, who watched the two riders jump the barrier and race across the sands. Zahir made his way down to a cavalry sergeant, ordered him to take ten riders and follow the escaped camels. Unfortunately, the sergeant and his men had been busy watching the races and were unprepared to mount their camels. Zahir barked and threatened each of them as they fitted their mounts with bridles and prepared to ride. After three or four minutes, the Sergeant had his unit together and they rode off after the escaped riders.
Watching the cavalry ride in pursuit only added to the crowd’s excitement, and soon the murmur had escalated to complete exhilaration. The crowd was wild with gossip, and rumors flew, speculating about who the mystery riders were and why the cavalry was following them.
Tariq lagged behind even further, but valiantly tried to ride his mount as fast as possible. The dust made his eyes itch, but he was unable to wipe them because his hands were tied. He finally came into a rhythm and actually managed to ride well for a while; unfortunately, he had lost much too much time to catch the others. He continued to ride until he saw something in the distance.
It was a camel.
No, it was two camels. One of the riders was on the sand. The other rider leaned over him.
Someone had fallen.
As he rode closer, Tariq saw that the fallen rider was Jawad. His crimson colors were easily identifiable. The rider bent over him was Fez. Tariq stopped his camel; unfortunately, he could not dismount because his hands were tied.
“Is he okay?” Tariq asked.
“No, he is barely conscious,” Fez answered.
“How did it happen?”
“I don’t know. I was in the back of the pack. I came around the bend and saw his camel was stopped and he was over on one side—unconscious and bleeding. He’s been hit on the head very hard. It’s amazing he’s not dead.”
“How did you get your hands free?”
“I have small hands, and they were sweaty.”
Tariq looked around. They were in a valley and the sentries were nowhere to be found.
“Where is the security?” Tariq asked.
Fez looked up. He hadn’t thought of that. Surveying the area, he also saw no security.
“I didn’t notice.”
“Fez, help me get my hands free.”
Fez found a sharp rock and began cutting at the rope like a scissor. After a few moments, the rope came untangled and Tariq was able to free his hands. They were raw and bloody. He then took the rock from Fez and cut his ankles free, dismounted, and walked over to the fallen Jawad.
Jawad’s body lay in the sand, bloodied and lifeless. Tariq put his head to Jawad’s chest. He was breathing slowly.
“I’ll take him,” Tariq said quietly.
The two boys took Jawad’s body and slid it on the front side of the camel’s hump, leaving just enough room for a rider to mount. Tariq then tied Jawad’s ankles and wrists together under the camel’s belly so he wouldn’t fall off. Satisfied the limp body was secured, Tariq mounted his camel.
“Fez, stay with me,” he ordered.
“Why?”
“Because there is an escape plan. I just don’t know if it will work.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’m not sure exactly. Only that we were to ride in the back of the pack and, at some point, we would be rescued.”
“Why didn’t you tell Aseem and me earlier?”
“I wanted to, but I was instructed to share the plan with no one. Then, I just got scared. I worried—what if it didn’t work? What if I ended up killing both of you? I just lost faith.”
Fez nodded.
“I know how it is to lose faith, Tariq. But what are we going to do about Aseem? He will be all alone if we escape.”
“If we escape, I promise, I’ll come back for Aseem.”
Again, Fez nodded. If Fez possessed one quality it most certainly was empathy. Being small and picked on growing up gave him the ability to feel for others. He understood that Tariq felt awful about his decision. He was, after all, just a boy and suddenly found himself responsible for two other lives. His heart may have even been in the right place. It was not an easy decision.
“Let’s just ride and see about this rescue.”
The two boys galloped away on their camels, far behind the rest of the pack. Jawad lay unconscious on the front of Tariq’s ride. They rode silently, but Tariq was glad to have a companion. His heart lightened a little. He realized he was not alone after all.
Sanaa and Margaret sprinted through the desert with perhaps a four-minute head start on the pursuing cavalry. They both tossed off their veils, allowing their long hair to fly in the breeze behind them. Margaret felt free. She felt alive. Riding a camel wasn’t that much different from riding a horse, and she took to it naturally. Sanaa looked on in amazement—Margaret was actually a faster rider than she was—and Sanaa had been riding camels her entire life!
Looking back, Sanaa saw the approaching cavalry behind them.
“We’ve got visitors!” she yelled.
Margaret looked back, also saw the oncoming cavalry, and urged her camel even faster. In the distance, about three miles away, was a mountain range. If they could make it to the mountain range their chances of survival would dramatically increase. They could ride up ridges, crisscross canyons, and use the mountain countryside to confuse their pursuers.
The two women rode faster as they edged closer to the canyon. Their pursuers were gaining ground on them quickly, as the largest and fastest camels were reserved for the cavalry. In a matter of minutes, they would catch the women with orders to kill.
After ten minutes, the women could see that the cavalry was only a hundred yards behind them. Margaret heard their shrill shrieks and tried to ride faster, but her camel was already in an all-out sprint. For the first time since they had escaped, she felt afraid.
The cavalry riders closed in on the two just as they entered the canyon. Only twenty yards behind now, Sanaa could hear the hoofbeats of the camels gaining on them.
Up ahead she saw two riders. Could it be Tariq? None of the other racers could be this slow.
“Tariq—Go!” she yelled.
One rider up ahead turned around, and then the second, and Sanaa saw both of them trying to urge their camels to gallop faster. However, one rider seemed to have something tied to the camel’s back, slowing it down and preventing an all-out sprint. Within moments, Margaret and Sanaa had caught up to the two boys.
“Ride, Tariq! Ride!” Sanaa yelled as she pulled even with him.
Fez looked white with fear as he glanced at Sanaa. Soon, she saw the problem. Another boy was tied to the front of Tariq’s camel. Not only was the weight slowing them down, but a sprint might cause the boy to become untied and plummet to his death.
The cavalry was only ten yards behind them now. The leader drew his sword and raised it. He swiped at Margaret’s back and the blade fell only six inches short. Margaret, sensing the danger, leaned forward and urged her camel on. The lead rider stood tall in his stirrups, gained ground on Margaret, raised his sword again, and was about to slice her neck. The sword came around and…an arrow, seemingly from nowhere, struck the man square in the forehead. He fell from his camel—dead before he hit the sand.
A volley of arrows followed, piercing the remaining cavalry riders. Most pulled up and stopped, some fell from their rides, tumbling and crunching in the sand. A group of masked riders emerged, as if by magic, from behind a canyon wall—a sneak attack! The fugitives rode straight through them, and the cavalry riders stopped in their tracks, completely caught by surprise.
The masked riders converged on the remaining cavalry riders, cutting them down, ensuring they could not report back to the Caid.
Sanaa, Tariq, Fez, and Margaret stopped their camels ahead on the trail. They watched as the rebels cut down the cavalry quickly and efficiently. These rebels could fight, and they could ride. They were not a disorganized group of bandits. These people were organized and efficient. This was a planned attack, executed ruthlessly and precisely.
After surveying the carnage, the rebel group rode up to meet them. The lead rebel yelled at Sanaa.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his face covered by a brown scarf.
“Yes, we’re all fine.”
The man nodded his head and soon the entire group was on the run. The Caid’s army would no doubt send reinforcements quickly that would greatly outnumber the small group of rebels. They would need to make their way in the mountains and hide their tracks by nightfall.