Tales of Akbar

Tales of Akbar

Hills of grainy amber rise all around as Kalid strides majestically across the open dune,

hoofs making their way through treacherous sand with ease.

A prouder stallion there never was, brave and proud as the Wandering King, with sand storms causing him only the slightest of hesitations.

I ride easily atop the strong steed, reins of the inane Rafiq close at hand in case he wanders off again, taking the pack upon his hump with him into the sands.

The sun's fire burns from above, scorching and blinding as we crest a ridge, my sword bouncing loosely at my hip, and Kalid snorts approval at the scene below.

We stand proudly before an oasis, towering upon the mighty hill, a fearsome group are we, the rogue warrior three.

Kalid, the brave and magnificent stallion, Rafiq, the childish but loyal and friendly camel, and Akbar, rogue warrior searching for my stolen lover across all the desert.

My love, we are coming, if ever so slowly. The tribes have scattered the trails, leaving little to track you by, but alas, I pursue regardless. I shall slay any who stand between us, even the Yemeni merchants, if they disrupt my pursuit. The sweet embrace, the scented oils on your skin, the warmth of your bed, it is worth the lives of thousands. I grow closer, but never seem to reach you, though fret not my love, I am coming.

Kalid impatiently flicks his head as Rafiq clumsily makes his way down the sands, towards his first water in many moons, though he could last quite a few more.

Tents dot the land nearest the treasured water, square and dark against the light, grainy sand beneath, as camels and horses kick the sand under their hooves.

Bands of travelers, anchorites, and merchants scattered like colocynths after a fierce storm, they run about, filling with water and trading product for cowries.

I feel eyes upon me as Kalid gallantly pushes through towards the water, unafraid of the heavily armed men surrounding our every side.

Rafiq raises his head as we near the water, his shyness evaporating as the sight of water reaches his gleeful eyes, his feet bouncing happily off the sand.

As Rafiq drinks his fill, I look for a suitable place to pitch a tent, surveying the people and their animals as I search the area around the oasis.

Then I see something that sets my innards afire, the sigil of the Tultakar, chieftain of the D'arburak, the tribe who stole from me my love.

Arms blazing with the fury of the daytime sun, my hands draw towards the sword on my hip, ready to draw and fight until death takes the loser.

Then Kalid snorts and nudges with me with his head, bleating and stomping his hoof softly into the sand beneath him, meeting my gaze with serious look.

Shaking his head, Kalid holds his gaze and I feel my rage lessen, no longer threatening to carry me off to battle unprepared, the fury of the sand storm within subsided.

I look closely and see nearly 30 men wearing the D'arburak mark, the scorpion on a desert rock, hot and gleaming beneath the relentless sun.

Blood boiling, I slowly unclench my fists, the desire to drive that scorpion into dust ever present but the mindless blood rage held intact, for now.

Readjusting my accoutrements, I keep watch on the D'arburak and seek a place to make camp, with a view of the D'arburak's movements.

Kalid, proud of his ability to rein my silent aggression, trots forward grandly, however even he turns and watches the movement of the scorpion men.

Rafiq sensed our tension, however is ignorant of the men and carefree as ever as he follows, searching for colocynth on the ground for a snack.

I make camp and deal with the anchorites and merchants, not caring to buy anything worth more than a few dirhams, no patience for the toils of haggling.

Kalid was right to stop me for fighting here would cause havoc and gain me nothing, for we would still be just as far from recovering my love as before.

Night comes slowly as Rafiq enjoys rest from the weight of his packs, licking his lips before his food, my eyes constantly on the D'arburak after Kalid's hooves are tended to.

There will be no sleep tonight, for I, Akbar, rogue warrior, have found part of the tribe that has stolen my love from me, and I will stalk them for all of time.

My love, we are coming, if ever so slowly. The tribes have scattered the trails, leaving little to track you by, but alas, I pursue regardless. I shall slay any who stand between us, even the Yemeni merchants, if they disrupt my pursuit. The sweet embrace, the scented oils on your skin, the warmth of your bed, it is worth the lives of thousands. I grow closer, but never seem to reach you, though fret not my love, I am coming.

Morning sand winds throw bristling particles into my eyes as I change kanahbal shirts beneath my accoutrements, riding upon Akbar as the sun's blistering heat flares down.

The D'arburak left early, but we were ready to pursue at a moment's notice, though Rafiq moaned when I woke him before the sun rose.

Adjusting my scarf to cover my nose, I lean forward on Kalid to watch the slowly fading hoof prints from the D'arburak horses, only a few minutes ahead of us.

The dust from the wind covers us so we remain invisible to our targets, though if the wind settles, we shall fall back behind a dune for cover.

For endless hours in the smoldering heat we travel, covering the barren waste land I call home with the long proud strides of Kalid, the bravest horse in the desert.

Then suddenly the wind dies down and we halt, sheltering ourselves behind the crest of the dune the D'arburak had just traveled over moments earlier.

Looking over the dune, I see the large rock outcropping the D'arburak have decided to make their place of refuge, with many more tents than were present at the oasis.

The tribe has met together and with them, undoubtedly my love, locked away in a tent, slaving at the feet of Tultakar or one of his sons.

I itch to attack and Kalid feels my tension and begins to protest, though I show him I had suppressed the urge by stroking his mane calmly, surveying the scene before us.

Rafiq