More bandits streamed in from the hills, swords in the air as they screamed into the night. It was difficult to decipher where the arrows came from in the darkness, but a lone arrow still scythed by every few seconds despite the raiders now in the midst of attacking the caravan in melee. Amal grabbed a rope from the cart, uncoiling it until he had about 10 feet of rope to play with. He was a passable swordsman, and he was no slouch to combat, but he had never had formal training. In the middle of a maelstrom of swordsmen when he had naught but his dagger? He trusted his wiles and his agility. 

Tying the end of the rope in a thick, mace-like knot, he twirled it above his head, standing atop the cart as the scene unfolded before him. Like a viper, he lashed out at a swordsman with his back turned. The weighted head of the rope coiling about his neck, Amal yanking the rope back and ripping the bandit off his feet. The man gagged and clawed at the rope as he was dragged behind the cart for Amal to finish him with a quick dagger thrust. 

A cry from the north had him raise his head, and he watched in surprise and horror as Emmaline performed what had to be sorcery! It seemed she hadn't told him everything. Not that he blamed her, being a liar himself. Watching, she hit the ground with an 'oof' and dust lifted into the air, nearly obscuring the dervish with a shamshir running at Emmaline from behind. Amal leaped, sand flying as he landed behind Emmaline. He grabbed her arms and yanked her back as the shamshir struck the ground she had been on not a moment before. 

"Worm!" the bandit snarled. 

"Dead man," Amal promised, stepping over Emmaline. He nearly lost his innards as the man cut across Amal's midsection, but the nimble thief shifted his hips to dodge, ducking the next swing and stepping forward into the third to disembowel the bandit. By the way he jerked, Emmaline could see Amal's cuts were not clean and quick, probably on purpose. He dropped his shamshir into the sand, and fell unmoving into death. 

Amal knelt down to pick up the sword, weighing it in his hands. "I would offer this one to you, but I see you have one." He observed with a dark humor. Behind him, the bandits were cutting through all but the guardsmen, who wouldn't last much longer. The screaming daughter of the merchant was dragged back into the waiting loins of the hungry bandits, and another trader was beheaded without ceremony, the head flying into the dirt. 

The rare camel riding bandit chased down those who tried to flee into the desert. All but one, who saw that among Amal and Emmaline, three of his comrades had lost their lives. His head was covered by a dark turban, and his unclad upperbody was herculean. Amal looked at his shamshir, then to his dagger, wondering what to do as the man rode towards them. Perhaps wait for Emmaline to obliterate him with a spell? No, he couldn't count on it. 

Oh. 

The Camel brayed and loped forward, nearly at the speed of an Arabnyan horse. It was too bad Amal picked up the head of the trader and chucked it at the dark mamluk, striking him in the face. He flipped backwards, off the beast which suddenly slowed. The thief sprinted to the side where the Camel trotted to, grabbing its reins with a snort and a huff. He grinned and gave a hand to Emmaline, helping her up atop the hump before he vaulted up behind her. 

"Get them!" 

"I will take your tongue!" 

The world now far taller to both of them, Amal slapped the reins and sent the camel gallopping towards the hills, north of where the bandits originated. They needed to make good speed, but the other camel riders were busy and with luck they would lose them. Emmaline looked back as the last vestiges of the caravan was cut down. "Ugh, why do they always wish to cut out your tongue?" She asked. 

Amal gave her a wink as she looked to him. "I cannot speak for the rest of Araby, but they often wish for my tongue out of jealousy." He remarked with a suggestive eyebrow. 
[@Penny]