"By the Prophet."
"By the Prophet."
Daoud stood up warily and handed the dabbus back to the boy Kassar had taken it from.
Kassar rose slowly, wiping sand from his face. His eyes seemed to spark with hatred.
This is not finished yet, Daoud thought.
He looked for Nicetas. The Greek boy was on his feet. He was wiping the dirt and blood from his face with the hem of his robe. He looked at Daoud, and there was something bright and solemn in his eyes. No one had ever looked at Daoud like that before.
Daoud felt a great rush of gratitude to God for giving him the strength to save Nicetas's life.
If I had not fought Kassar, Nicetas would be dead.
That clean-lined face so full of warmth and wit would be so much lifeless clay. Daoud felt a lightness in his heart and a smile bubbling to his lips. He was proud of his strength. He had used it to save a precious life. He was a warrior of God.
Smiling, he went to Nicetas and threw his arm around his shoulders.