A Wind in Cairo by Judith Tarr

A Wind in Cairo by Judith Tarr

Author:Judith Tarr [Tarr, Judith]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: ebook, Judith Tarr, historical fantasy, Wind in Cairo, Book View Cafe, C429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9781611380347
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2010-12-23T13:00:00+00:00


14

Drums beat. Banners whipped in the wind. Horses stamped, danced, cried aloud. In a roaring of laden camels and a clatter of weapons, the chosen of the sultan’s army mustered for war. Seven hundred mounted men and one lone woman in her father’s shadow, stiff in new armor, calming herself with her restive mount.

A small number for an army of Islam, but a brave one, and proud. Vanguard and rearguard shone in the yellow gold of the sultan’s guard, mingled with the black and scarlet and sacred green of picked emirs, each under his own standard, and over all the black banners of Abbas. The rearguard was al-Zaman’s to command. He ruled it easily, unblinded by the honor; his emirs and his soldiers minded him as well out of the sultan’s sight as in it.

They prayed in their long lines, those who would go and those who would linger in the camp of the sultan’s wars. The drums were, for this while, silent. The wind sang the louder above their bowed heads.

They rose in a wave of armed exultation. The drums rattled forth anew. Mount, they commanded. Mount and ride.

Khamsin’s saddle was warm from the sun. Zamaniyah settled as deep in it as she could, taking her time about it, because she wanted to clap heels to his sides and bolt, toward Syria, toward Cairo, it did not matter.

The sultan faced his brother al-Adil who would rule Egypt in his name. They parted with dignity, with ceremony that betrayed nothing of sorrow. It was the lot of kinsmen who were princes, to meet most often only to part.

Zamaniyah had known it all her life, but she had never hardened to it. Jaffar was here, her best-beloved shadow; and the mamluks who seemed to have decided that they were hers; and Khamsin. But Al’zan was leagues away in Cairo, with all the servants who had startled her with weeping when she left them, and Wiborada veiled and grimly silent in the harem. Even the women had seemed dismayed that she was going, as if, after all, she had been more to them than resentment and unending scandal. All of them had shaped the greater portion of her world; and she might never see them again.

Hard to think of; but hard to dwell on, here in the sun, in the beating of the drums, in the singing of war songs and the chanting of the name of Allah. Her heart had leaped in spite of itself. Oh, they were a fine brave army; wonderful in the arrogance of their smallness. They would be enough, they and their sultan. All of Syria would fall before them.

“Allah!” they shrilled. “Allah-il-allah!”

The drums quickened. The vanguard shifted, formed, began to move. Rank by rank, the army followed.



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