"Mercedes Lackey - Jihad" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

Talal widened his eyes at that, but did not speak. Ali took a last look at
Deraa, and the death of their hopes, and turned resolutely away.

"Where do we go, lord?" asked Faris, humbly, the peasant still.

"To Azrak," Ali replied. "We must collect ourselves, and then scatter
ourselves. If Aurens has been taken and betrayed us, we must think to take
ourselves where the Turks cannot find us."

The others nodded at this gloomy wisdom, as the rains began again, falling
down impartially upon Turks and Bedouin alike.

The ride to the old fortress of Azrak, which Aurens and his followers had
taken for the winter, was made longer by their gloom. There was not one among
them who doubted the truth of Ali's words; and Ali thought perhaps that there
was not one among them who was not trying to concoct some heroic scheme,
either to rescue Aurens, or to avenge him. But a thousand unconnected raids of
vengeance would not have a quarter of the power of the planned and coordinated
raids Aurens had led them in. And there was still the matter of gold and
gunsтАФgold, to buy the loyalty of the wilder tribes, to make Suni fight beside
Shia, half-pagan desert tribesman beside devout Meccan. Guns, because there
were never enough guns, never enough ammunition, and because there were those
who would fight for the promise of guns who would not be moved for anything
else. Swords would not prevail against the Turkish guns, no matter how earnest
the wielder. They must gather their people, each his own, and scatter. Ali
would take it upon himself to bear the evil news to Feisal, who would,
doubtless, take it to his father and the English.

More ill thoughts; how long would King Hussein, ever jealous of his son's
popularity and inclined to mistrust him, permit Feisal even so much as a
bodyguard? Without Aurens to speak to the English, and the English to temper
the father, the son could not rally the Revolt either.

It was truly the death of their hopes.

The fortress loomed in the distance, dark and dismal in the rain. Ali did not
think he could bear to listen to the spectral wailings of the ghost-dogs of
Beni Hillal about the walls tonight. He would gather his people and return to
his tribeтАФ What was that noise?

He raised his eyes from contemplating the neck of his camel, just as a shaft
of golden light, as bright as the words of the Koran, broke through the
clouds. Where it struck the ground, on the road between them and the fortress,
there was a stark white figure, that seemed to take in the golden light and
transmute it to his own brightness.

Ali squinted against the light. Who was this? Was it mounted?

Yes, as it drew nearer, strangely bringing the beam of sunlight with it, he