Sultana's Legacy Read Online Free Page B

the devotion of his men. Send word to him. If you spoke on my behalf, he would believe my intentions.”
    “And, if he does not believe me?”
    “He must.” Faraj gripped the hilt of the sword at his side. “He must, for the sake of us all.”
    He risked his life in this gamble. The Ashqilula would surely remember him.
    One year after Faraj had taken control of Malaka, the combined forces of King Sancho’s father Alfonso X of Castilla-Leon and the Marinid Sultan united against Gharnatah. They came with the Ashqilula, an enemy Faraj had never thought to see again. Swift, two-pronged attacks occurred at the port cities of Tarif and al-Jazirah al-Khadra. Afterward, the Marinid galleys sailed for Malaka.
    The combined Ashqilula and Marinid forces had tried an incursion on the beach the first night. Faraj readied his men for them. Surprised in their turn by the defenders, none among the invaders lived. Faraj took no prisoners and offered no terms for ransom. Everyone died by his order. He held his city until the Sultan’s reinforcements arrived from the capital. By then, Marinid naval forces had surrounded the port.
    A second wave of Ashqilula landed on the same beach and found the bodies of their clan members rotting on the sand. As before, Faraj’s men ensured they filled the air with the screams of dying men and painted the sand copper with the blood of his enemies.
    Later, the victorious warriors of Malaka gathered the severed heads of their attackers into sacks and flung them into the White Sea. Faraj left the rest of their mutilated and bloated carcasses as a fine feast for the sea birds.
     Now, he stroked the length of his beard. Yes, the Ashqilula would remember him well.
    ***
    Faraj rowed a small boat with Khalid, Muhammad and one of Muhammad’s guardsmen across the White Sea. A star-filled sky illuminated the late evening. Crackling sparks from cooking fires in the Marinid encampment glittered across the landscape.
    The craft bumped against the black-caulked side of a sleek, low-lying Marinid galley. Dark eyes peered through the holes that held the oars. Faraj averted his gaze. Still he could not help but wonder about the cruelty of life in service on a galley.
    He nodded to Muhammad, who groaned and muttered, “I remain uncertain about the wisdom of this plan. So, Abdallah agreed to meet with me. He does not know you are coming, too. He is still the enemy. He might try to kill us both.”
    Faraj rolled his eyes heavenward. “Either you intend to help me persuade him or not. Why else would I have asked you to come? You don’t have to talk to him. Keep your tongue behind your teeth if you have only foolish words to offer.”
    Despite the shadows of evening, Muhammad’s dark brown gaze narrowed visibly, before he grumbled, “I’m nervous. I cannot help it. This is dangerous.”
    A deep baritone voice rumbled over their heads. “Yes, very dangerous, especially with you two talking so much.”
    Faraj looked up the side of the ship, making out the image of a tall man who leaned over the railing. Another stood beside him holding a brass lantern. The taller one shook the length of a rope ladder and lowered it down. When Faraj tugged it toward his chest, it offered little resistance. He hoped they had secured the rope. Could he trust Abdallah not to cut the fibers while he scaled the ladder?
    With Khalid’s aid, Faraj climbed and leapt over the side and on to the deck. Behind him, it seemed Muhammad had a little more difficulty, as Khalid strained and groaned below. Again rolling his eyes, Faraj leaned over and heaved Muhammad into the galley. His brother drew deep gulps of air into his lungs after his harsh exertion. Faraj shook his head and aided Khalid. Muhammad’s man remained in the boat, as it bobbed on the shallow waves.
    A wizened Abdallah of Ashqilula looked them over with large, nearly opaque eyes. Then he scratched a thin, graying beard. Pockmarks had gouged holes in his olive-brown cheeks. Thin hanks