The Parched sea h-1

by Troy Denning

  Both Kadumi and Lander frowned.

  "Correct me if I'm wrong," the Harper said, craning his neck to look at her, "but wouldn't the sheikh take a dim view of assassinating his guests?"

  "We're not going to kill the Zhentarim," Ruha laughed, pointing at Lander. "He's going to try to kill you."

  The Harper frowned, then leaned close to Ruha so Kadumi could not hear what he whispered, "I'm beginning to understand why your visions always come true."

  "Don't worry," Ruha replied, speaking aloud to prevent Kadumi from thinking any secrets were being kept from him. "You'll just make the Zhentarim so mad that he'll try to kill you."

  Kadumi smiled. "Honor will dictate that the sheikh save you and banish or execute the man who assaulted his guest. You'll have the sheikh's ear to yourself."

  "Just in time to warn him about the Zhentarim's impending attack," Ruha finished. She leaned close to Lander and added, "Do not worry about the attack I saw on Rahalat's shoulder, for in the vision you had clearly been surprised by the assault from behind."

  When Kadumi scowled at the widow, she straightened and said, "If the plan works, Lander, you will be expecting the Zhentarim to attack. Kadumi will be there to protect your back, so you will have nothing to fear." Her brother-in-law stiffened at the compliment.

  After a moment's consideration, Lander nodded. "I can do it."

  They rode the rest of the way to the camp in silence. When they reached the golden grass surrounding the emerald lake, urging the camels onward became more effort than it was worth. They tethered the beasts and walked the rest of the way on foot.

  Sa'ar's camp was typical. Each family had pitched its khreima with the entrance facing the center of the circle. The women were spinning camel's wool, repairing carpets, and tending to the dozens of other tasks required to maintain a household. The older girls were helping their mothers or watching the youngest children, who were running about between the tents or wrestling in the circle.

  As the trio passed through the tent circle, the women welcomed them by whistling from beneath their veils, and the young children paused long enough to stare in open-mouthed amazement at Lander's fair, sunburned skin. Ruha suddenly felt lonely and sad, for the scene reminded her of the life she had enjoyed for only three days, a life she knew she would never have again.

  Her sudden melancholy was a stark contrast to the last few days. Since leaving the desolated camps of the Mtair Dhafir, she had been too busy trying to reach Colored Waters, daydreaming about Lander's homeland, and worrying about the Zhentarim to dwell on her own status. Even Kadumi's reaction when he discovered her to be a witch had not been very painful. Part of the reason, she knew, was that Lander's attitude gave her hope of finding someplace she would not be an outcast.

  When the trio reached the sheikh's audience tent, they found a large pavilion made from blond camel's wool. It was open on all sides, and Ruha could see Sa'ar sitting beneath it next to two guests. The sheikh was a powerfully built man of forty or fifty, his face lined with furrows, his eyes hard with confidence and cunning.

  Ruha recognized both of the sheikh's guests immediately. One of them had flashing blue eyes with skin and hair as pale as white sand. He wore a purple robe and silver bracers, and had been posing as Zarud's servant in the camp of the Mtair Dhafir. The widow was dismayed to see the pale stranger, for he did not strike her as the type of man who would be easy to provoke into an attack on Lander.

  The other guest's presence surprised Ruha as much as the first one's presence dismayed her. He stood no more than four-feet tall, was swaddled head to toe in a white burnoose and turban, and looked like one of Lander's companions at El Ma'ra. If it was the same individual, she could not imagine what he was doing with the Zhentarim.

  The trio paused outside the pavilion and waited several seconds. When no one inside seemed to notice their presence, Lander impatiently cleared his throat, bringing the quiet conversation inside to an abrupt halt.

  "Has somebody come to my khreima in need of help?" called the sheikh. His voice was deep, confident, and held mild irritation.

  "Not in need of help, but bringing it," the Harper said. "I have come to warn you of treachery."

  Before the sheikh could respond, the short guest called, "And why should the sheikh believe a liar who works fraud upon those he contracts?" He spoke in stilted, accented Bedine.

  To Ruha's surprise, the question drew a smile from Lander. "Bhadla, you're alive!"

  "Musalim did not fare so well," Bhadla responded, his tone accusatory.

  "That is the Zhentarim's fault, not mine."

  "This business has no place in the tents of the Mahwa," the sheikh interrupted. "Berrani, won't you come into my khreima and drink some hot tea?"

  "Your hospitality is legendary, Sheikh Sa'ar," Lander replied, leading the way into the tent and motioning at his two companions. "I am Lander. My friends are Kadumi and Ruha of the Qahtan."

  "Apparently you know Bhadla," Sa'ar replied, indicating that the trio should sit opposite Bhadla and the Zhentarim. "The D'tarig's master is Yhekal, sheikh of the Zhentarim."

  Sa'ar's servant brought a pair of tiny cups and a pot filled with hot salted tea. Sa'ar filled each tiny cup with black, rich-smelling liquid, then handed one to both Lander and Kadumi.

  When he saw that the sheikh had ignored Ruha, Lander held his cup out to the young widow. Though the tea smelled delicious, she quickly shook her head to indicate that she did not want the drink. The Mahwa did not permit men and women to eat together, or the sheikh would have offered her a cup himself. Ruha suspected that allowing her to sit in his tent was the extent of the courtesy the sheikh would normally show a strange woman.

  Realizing his mistake, Lander withdrew the cup and sipped from it himself.

  "Tell me about your journey," Sa'ar said, inviting Lander into conversation. "Where did you come from? What brings you into the Mother Desert?"

  The Harper did not waste any time with pleasantries. Staring at Yhekal with a sneer so offensive that it could only be intentional, he said, "The treachery of the Zhentarim. I have come to warn the Bedine of their plans."

  Sa'ar lifted a brow. "Is that so?"

  As Bhadla translated Lander's statement, Ruha realized that the Zhentarim had learned from his failure with the Mtair Dhafir and was apparently foregoing the use of magic with Sa'ar.

  After listening to the translation of Lander's charge, Yhekal replied to Bhadla calmly, and the D'tarig gave the reply to the Bedine. "My master says he has presented the Zhentarim's offer to Sheikh Sa'ar. He suggests the Harper do the same for his people."

  "That seems fair," Sa'ar agreed. "The Zhentarim have offered me steel and gems. What will the Harpers offer?"

  "Freedom," Lander replied with quiet nonchalance. He sipped his tea and watched the Zhentarim as the D'tarig translated the response for his master.

  The sheikh snorted. "That is all? We have our freedom."

  "Not after you sell it to the Zhentarim," Lander replied. "Did Yhekal also tell you how his people treated the Qahtan and the Mtair Dhafir?"

  The sheikh nodded, his face showing no other response. "What is that to me? They were not my allies."

  As Sa'ar responded, Ruha noticed a certain satisfaction creeping into Yhekal's eyes, and she realized that he was secretly using magic to understand Bedine. Thinking of the spell that had influenced her father, Ruha wondered if the purple-robed Zhentarim had also tried it on Sa'ar and failed, or if he was saving it for later.

  "Sheikh Sa'ar, the Qahtan and the Mtair Dhafir were your allies, as are all the other khowwans of the desert," Lander said. He glared at Yhekal, then turned back to Sa'ar and said, "Whether you realize it or not, you have a common enemy. The Zhentarim wish to seize the desert from the Bedine."

  Yhekal started to respond, but caught himself and waited. After Bhadla had translated Lander's charge and the Zhentarim made a reply in his own language, the D'tarig at last rasped, "My master says that the Harper is not speaking the truth.
The Zhentarim do not want anything from the desert. They merely wish to open a trade route across it-with the cooperation of the Bedine tribes, of course."

  "The Zhentarim is a liar!" Kadumi snapped, pointing an accusing finger at Yhekal. "If the Zhentarim wish to make allies, why have they brought so many warriors?"

  After patiently waiting for the translation he did not need, Yhekal gave his reply to Bhadla and the D'tarig passed it on. "The desert is a dangerous place," he said. "One must be prepared."

  "For what?" Kadumi demanded hotly, turning to the sheikh. "They have at least three thousand warriors in their army!"

  The sheikh turned to Lander. "Is the boy speaking truly?"

  "We can't be sure of the exact number, Sheikh Sa'ar," the Harper replied. "It is only an approximate count."

  As her companions spoke, Ruha watched the Zhentarim's concern. She decided to give him something else to think about. "If I may speak, Sheikh Sa'ar?"

  Sa'ar nodded to Ruha. "All who sit in my khreima may speak."

  Ruha inclined her head. "How do you think Yhekal feeds so many in the desert?"

  The sheikh frowned thoughtfully. "Now that you ask, I can't imagine. How?"

  Both Lander and Kadumi smiled, anticipating what she would say. She settled her gaze on the Zhentarim, then said, "After the Zhentarim finished with the Mtair Dhafir, they cooked a hundred camels and gave the bodies of the Mtair Dhafir to their reptile soldiers."

  Upon hearing the last part of the report, the sheikh's mouth turned downward in disgust. "Cannibals," he hissed. When Bhadla started to translate what had just passed, the sheikh cut him off. "Yhekal obviously understands our words," Sa'ar said, "and I am tired of playing his game."

  The Zhentarim's brow furrowed, but he did not lose his temper. "They're lying, Sheikh," he said, now speaking Bedine.

  The sheikh looked the Zhentarim over thoughtfully. "I don't think so, Yhekal. You are the one who has presented himself as something he is not."

  "Am I to take that as your reply, then?" the purple-robed invader asked.

  The sheikh looked toward the camp outside his tent. "I have not yet decided. Now that I have heard the words of both the Zhentarim and these Harpers," he said, mistakenly waving his hand at Ruha and Kadumi as well as Lander, "we will discuss the matter. I will send for you when we are ready."

  "As a friend," Yhekal said, his voice as even and cold as ever, "I warn you not to choose the Harpers over the Zhentarim-"

  "Listen to this warning carefully, Sheikh," Lander interrupted. "Threats are the only truthful words you will ever hear a Zhentarim speak."

  Yhekal closed his mouth, and Ruha saw his hand drop toward his jambiya. For a moment, she thought that the invader might actually lose control of himself and draw his weapon, but Bhadla gently laid a hand on the man's arm.

  "Perhaps we should go, Lord," the D'tarig said. "Sheikh Sa'ar needs time to consider your proposal."

  The Zhentarim relaxed instantly. Without looking at his translator, Yhekal said, "Of course, Bhadla." He glared at Lander with a menacing look, then turned to Sheikh Sa'ar. "I hope to hear from you soon-shall we say… tonight?"

  Nine

  A bitter wind gusted over the hillside, sending dust devils of sulphurous grit scuttling across the volcano's pale slopes. Lander sat in a ravine about a quarter of the way up the cinder cone, staring at the campfires three hundred feet below. Though he wore a jellaba given to him by Sheikh Sa'ar, the heavy camel's wool robe did not prevent him from shivering.

  Sa'ar lifted the battered pot off the steaming rock-fissure upon which it had been placed to keep the tea warm. He poured a generous helping of the black liquid into a wooden cup, then offered it to Lander. "Here, something to warm you," the sheikh said.

  The Harper accepted the tea with heartfelt gratitude, then wrapped his hands around the warm cup and sipped the rich drink. Though the steam vent kept the tea far from scalding, it was still hot enough to warm his insides. "Thank you," Lander said, at last bringing his shivering to a halt.

  Sa'ar put the pot back in the vent-hole, then shook his head in amusement and shrugged Lander's thanks off without comment. It was a Bedine peculiarity, the Harper had noticed, that they did not express gratitude for food or water. From what he could tell, they regarded these two essentials as the property of whomever needed them at the time. It seemed a strangely charitable custom for a people who thought it praiseworthy to kill a man in order to steal his camel.

  "You had better be right about the Zhentarim," Sheikh Sa'ar commented, studying the black basin of emptiness lying beyond his tribes' campsite. "I would not like to think I made my people abandon their khreimas for nothing."

  "I'm right."

  Lander's answer was confident, but even he was beginning to doubt the Zhentarim would attack. Already, Mystra's Star Circle was touching the western horizon, and by the constellation's position, Lander knew dawn would come in less than three hours.

  The Harper and the sheikh had been sitting in the ravine since nightfall, when the Mahwa had silently snuck out of their camps, leaving their khreimas standing behind them. Under the cover of the moonless night, the tribe had ridden for the far side of the caldera. Behind them, they had left only two sentries and a half-dozen warriors to tend the campfires so that it would appear that the camp remained occupied.

  Tethering their camels two miles away, about a quarter of the way around the volcano's cone, Lander and Sa'ar had come to watch the Zhentarim overrun the empty camp. Sa'ar had justified the adventure by claiming he wanted to study his enemies, but Lander suspected that the sheikh was more interested in witnessing the Black Robes' reaction when they learned they had been duped.

  Fortunately for Lander's nerves, they had to wait only twenty minutes longer. A familiar, shrill note wafted across the black emptiness, and then a tiny bolt of bright light flared in the distance.

  "What was that?" Sa'ar demanded, rising to his feet.

  "Lightning bolt," Lander explained.

  "Magic?"

  "Yes," the Harper replied, also standing.

  The sheikh groaned. "My warriors won't like that."

  "The Zhentarim try to eliminate the sentries, then overrun the camps quickly," Lander explained. "They won't tolerate survivors."

  "With good reason," Sa'ar responded, pointing at Lander. "You, Ruha, and the boy have certainly caused them enough trouble. If you hadn't told me of their atrocities to the Mtair Dhafir, I might well have allied with them. From what Kadumi told me, the Mtair Dhafir would have also joined them-if you hadn't cut their envoy's throat."

  "Kadumi told you that?" Lander asked, surprised.

  The sheikh turned and watched the dark shapes of two warriors ride their camels out of camp. "No," he replied. "Kadumi claimed it was someone named Al'Aif, but I think you had more reasons than this Al'Aif."

  Lander did not bother to deny the conclusion. At the moment, who had killed Zarud did not matter, and he did not wish to offend Sa'ar. Instead of arguing with the sheikh, the Harper reached for the tea pot. "May I?"

  "Why do you have to ask?"

  Lander filled his cup, then sipped the warm drink while they waited for the Zhentarim to reach the camp. The Harper barely finished his tea before dark shapes began skulking through the golden grass around the lakes.

  "Weren't the sentries stationed at the edge of the basin?" Lander asked.

  "They were supposed to be," the sheikh responded, already thinking along the same lines as Lander. "But that seems impossible. It should have taken the Zhentarim twice this long to reach the camp."

  The two men watched silently as a long line of dark silhouettes appeared outside the camp. Though Lander guessed the line to be less than four hundred yards away, the shapes remained indistinct and small. For several minutes, the army held its ground, awaiting the resistance that would not come. After a time it began to creep silently, cautiously forward.

  "All right," Sa'ar said. "Let us see what they think of our little ruse."

&nb
sp; As Lander had expected, the first ranks entered the fire-lit camp scurrying on all fours. Even from two hundred yards, the Harper could see their distinctive shapes, with four limbs protruding from sinewy bodies at right angles and a serpentine tail twitching behind. As they stopped and stood on their two rear legs, about half of the reptilian mercenaries drew sabers. The others pulled crossbows off their backs.

  "It is as I feared," Sa'ar whispered. "Asabis."

  "What?" Lander asked, turning to the sheikh.

  "Come," the sheikh said, grasping the Harper's shoulder. "We must leave here at once."

  Lander did not move. "You know what those things are?"

  Sa'ar nodded. "I suspected it when you and Ruha described what had happened to the Mtair Dhafir. My tribe and I are in your debt."

  The sheikh started to leave, but Lander did not follow. "Why are you so frightened of them?"

  "There's no time," Sa'ar said. "I'll explain after we rejoin the tribe… if we live that long."

  Because Sa'ar was not the type to be easily frightened, Lander found the man's fear more than a little contagious. Still, the Harper was not ready to leave. He wanted to study the asabis for at least a few minutes. "I'll catch up to you later." Lander turned back toward the campsite, where the asabis had made torches and were setting khreimas afire. "I want to watch awhile. Maybe I'll learn something useful."

  The sheikh sighed. "I cannot leave you here alone," he said. "Can we go after I tell you about them?"

  Lander nodded, then picked up the tea pot and poured the last of the black drink into a bakia. "I suppose that would be fine." He handed the cup to the sheikh. To his embarrassment, he noticed that his hand was trembling.

  The sheikh glanced at Lander's trembling hand, then chuckled and took the tea. "Very well," he said, his voice and manner now absolutely calm. "We'll stay until you are ready to go."

  Sa'ar turned toward the campsite and squatted down on his haunches. "Once, after my brothers and cousins had raided too many other khowwans, my tribe was driven into the Quarter of Emptiness. Our enemies did not follow us, for they expected that our camels would starve and we would die of thirst."