The tent of the Bedouin
by Bedouin
Part 14
miel's breathing was shallow, her slumber kept her comfortable and allowed her
body and mind to rest. There were no dreams to terrify or inspire her, only a
deep darkness, a pool of tranquility.
Of course, she would not have been so tranquil had she known her position. She
would never remember any more than the blinding flash of unconsciousness as the
Mulaazim Awil's dagger handle had struck her head. Or recall how he had stood
for a moment, shouting vile obscenities at her still body in his rage before
bellowing for attendance.
The two guards had bound miel anew, roping her wrists and ankles together,
heeding the Mulaazim's barked commands obediently. Under his supervision they
had carried her to the tent's door and thrown her unceremoniously over the
saddle of a horse, if they thought this treatment of a girl unusual they had not
dared to show it and simply followed the Moor's instructions.
miel would never be able to recall the short trek over the soft desert sands, or
how the moon made the undulating dunes shimmer with silver edges, nor seen how
the Mulaazim had ridden ahead of her, leaving the boy who had brought the gift
to Bedouin to lead her tethered horse.
It was only a short journey and presently the small party had arrived at a
gateway set within a long wall. The gate had been guarded but the keeper merely
nodded and bowed slightly as the Mulaazim Awil and his group passed through.
The wall enclosed a small group of buildings, all built on one level in the
plain, Arabic fashion. The party stopped in the forecourt of the largest
building and the door quickly opened as if expecting them, a young man came to
take the reins of the Mulaazim's horse. Without acknowledging him, the Moor
dismounted and entered the building, waking it with his shouts.
Four men burst from the building and hurried to miel's mount, and, with apparent
care and much curious mumbling, took her gently down and carried her inside.
