by Troy Denning
“We intend to fight,” Sa’ar said, clenching his fist and holding it proudly in front of him. “If that is what you want from us, you can go home, berrani.”
From the sheikh’s sharp tone, Ruha guessed that home was exactly where he and Utaiba had intended to send Lander. She was impressed by the Harper’s diplomacy, for he had neatly turned what was to be a pronouncement of doom into a discussion of strategy. The widow did not think that his plan would work, of course, but she admired him for trying.
“I want the desert tribes to fight,” Lander said, pausing to gaze into the eyes of several nearby warriors. “But more than that, I want the Bedine to win!”
Several of the men murmured their agreement. As a man who had carried himself well in battle, Lander was entitled to a certain amount of respect, and he was making the most of it.
The warrior’s support was not lost on the sheikhs, who gave each other concerned glances before turning back to the Harper. Sa’ar said, “We have no intention of losing—”
“You may lose no matter what your intentions are,” Lander interrupted, laying a hand on Ruha’s shoulder, “unless you accept the magic that this woman can provide.”
Ruha saw the Harper’s influence slipping away as the jaw of warrior after warrior went slack in shock.
“You can’t win this argument,” she hissed. “Don’t even try.”
Lander ignored her and continued to address the assembly. “With their magic, the Zhentarim have an overpowering advantage.”
Ruha angrily shrugged his hand off her shoulder, then angrily shook her head. “What makes you think I want to help these tribes?” Her words were sharp, for she did not like being ignored—especially when it was her life that being discussed.
Lander faced her, not fazed. “Your people need magic, all they can get.”
“They are not my people,” Ruha retorted, glaring at Sa’ar and Utaiba. “They wouldn’t have me and I wouldn’t have them!”
“That is unfortunate—” the Harper began.
“And it is irrelevant,” interrupted Sa’ar, trying to retake control of the conversation. “Utaiba and I have a plan for defeating the Zhentarim that will not offend the gods. You may take Ruha and leave.” The sheikh glanced at Kadumi, then added, “This fine young warrior will be welcome in either of our tribes.”
“I go with Ruha,” Kadumi declared, starting to rise.
Without looking away from Sa’ar, Lander caught the youth’s wrist and gently restrained him. “As you know, I have come far and risked my life to warn the Bedine of their danger,” he said in a reasonable tone. “Would it be too much to ask in return to know the nature of your plan?”
Sa’ar looked uncomfortable, but Utaiba nodded. When the wiry sheikh spoke, however, he looked at his warriors instead of the Harper. “We have seen that the Raz’hadi and the Mahwa are stronger together than they are alone, have we not?”
Several warriors voiced their agreement.
“Then does it not stand to reason that ten tribes will have ten times the strength of one?”
“It does,” affirmed a burly warrior. “But even between our two tribes, do we have ten allies?”
Sa’ar shook his head. “Not yet, Kabina. Remember, though, that the enemy of our enemy is our friend.”
Before Kabina could respond, Utaiba continued Sa’ar’s explanation. “The Zhentarim are enemies of all our people. So, at least where the Black Robes are concerned, all Bedine are friends.”
“We have sent messengers to all the tribes within riding distance,” Sa’ar concluded, waving his hand at the horizon. “We will tell their sheikhs what the Zhentarim have done and ask them to meet us at Elah’zad. There, we will shape a grand alliance to drive the invaders from Anauroch.”
“A worthy plan,” Lander said, nodding eagerly.
The warriors looked pleased by the Harper’s approval, but Sa’ar and Utaiba each raised suspicious brows.
“Yet, in the time it takes you to assemble, the Zhentarim will not be idle. They will discover what you are doing and move to prevent it.”
Utaiba smirked, then said, “I doubt they can stop us in ten days. Even if they knew our intentions, they would have to find Elah’zad—and travel to it.”
Ruha approved of this portion of the sheikhs’ plan, at least. Located one hundred and fifty miles to the north, Elah’zad was an out-of-the-way oasis protected by a formidable mix of salt flats and rocky hills. It would not be an easy place for the Zhentarim to reach or attack.
Lander conceded the point by inclining his head, then turned the subject back to his earlier argument. “Even with ten tribes, you will still need Ruha to counter the magic of the Zhentarim. What would have happened had she not been in the canyon last night?”
The sheikhs and their men all frowned, but they knew the answer to Lander’s question. Still, being correct did not mean the Harper had won the argument. The warriors scowled at him stubbornly for several moments.
Finally Kabina spoke again. “We did not know about the witch last night, so the gods will not blame us for what she did.” The burly warrior fixed an icy glare on Ruha. “If we ride with her now, they will surely deliver us into defeat and slavery.”
“It is not the gods who will deliver you into slavery,” Lander countered patiently, still speaking in a reasonable but unyielding voice. “It is the Zhentarim, and your only hope of victory lies with Ruha’s magic. Instead of banishing her, you should be begging her to help you.”
“You do not understand the gods of the Bedine,” Sa’ar declared.
“Perhaps I don’t,” the Harper responded, fixing his one-eyed gaze on the sheikh. “But you don’t understand the Zhentarim. They won’t hesitate to use their magic. Unless you fight back with magic, you are doomed.”
A grisled, gray-eyed warrior said, “If we need magic, our gods will provide it for us, as Kozah provided the dust storm last night.”
Lander turned toward the warrior and shook his head. “Kozah had nothing to do with that storm.”
Ruha grabbed the Harper’s arm. In his muscles, she felt a tension that did not show in his face, though she could not say whether it was caused by anger or fear. “Lander, talk no more,” she whispered. “Nothing you say can change their minds.” The widow did not add that his argument was also hardening their hearts.
The Harper did not heed her warning. “The dust storm was Ruha’s doing.”
A burst of astounded cries ran round the circle, and warriors glanced at one another with disheartened and angry expressions. They had taken the dust curtain to be a sign that Kozah favored them and were not happy to hear that a sorceress had caused the storm instead of their god.
Sa’ar studied Ruha for several moments, then asked, “Is this true, witch?”
The widow hesitated before replying. If Lander was arguing just because he was stubborn, it might be wiser to deny casting the spell and avoid upsetting the warriors any further. On the other hand, if the Harper actually believed he could convince the Bedine to accept her magic, she did not want him to think she was unsupportive.
“Speak the truth,” the Harper urged.
Ruha swallowed once, then made her decision. “I created the dust storm,” she said. “Not Kozah.”
A few stubborn warriors muttered half-hearted denials, but most of the Bedine received the news in dumfounded silence.
Lander seized the opportunity to continue his argument. “In my land, N’asr is called Cyric, and Kozah is known as Talos,” the Harper began. “But by whatever name they are called, the gods watch over all of Toril, not just Anauroch.”
The Bedine greeted his statement with a mixture of blank stares and suspicious curiosity, but they did not interrupt. Ruha began to suspect that there was, indeed, a method to Lander’s argument.
“In my land, magic is common,” the Harper continued. “So my question is this: if magic is so terrible, why do the gods permit it in one part of the world and not in the other? Could it be possible that in a
ll the centuries since the Scattering, they have entrusted it to mankind again? Is it possible that Kozah did not help us last night because Ruha was there to work his will instead?”
Utaiba raised his brow thoughtfully, and Sa’ar pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. Even the warriors appeared to be considering the matter, and a flutter developed in the widow’s stomach as she realized the Harper actually had a chance to win over the Bedine. Ruha found herself wondering how it would feel to be a fully accepted member of a tribe.
Her contemplation was short-lived. A few moments later, Sa’ar found a weakness in the Harper’s argument. “Your people did not make a desert of their home, berrani, so the gods have no reason to punish them. You and the Zhentarim may use magic, but that does mean it is permitted for a Bedine. It may even be that the Zhentarim have been sent into Anauroch to test our resolve.”
Lander’s face reddened, and a vein began throbbing in his temple. “In the name of Mielikki, why are you so determined to be Zhentarim slaves?” he yelled. “Are you fools? Isn’t living in this desolate waste punishment enough for you?”
“Quiet!” Sa’ar roared, glowering at Lander. “We have decided. You and the witch must leave!”
“As you wish,” the Harper spat. “Other tribes may have wiser sheikhs. I will take Ruha to Elah’zad and see.”
“Then you will die,” Sa’ar threatened.
Lander sneered. “Someday, but not by your blade.”
The sturdy sheikh reached for his jambiya and Ruha realized that the matter was about to come to blood. The widow knew that this was not a battle she and the Harper could hope to win, so she rose and positioned herself between the two angry men.
“Hold your tongues and your blades,” she said. “We will let the gods themselves resolve this argument.”
“That was what I intended,” Sa’ar snarled. His hand remained on his dagger hilt, but he made no move to finish standing.
“Let us consider the widow’s suggestion,” Utaiba said, laying a restraining hand on Sa’ar’s arm. “What do you have in mind, Ruha?”
The widow inclined her head to the sheikh. “I was raised at the Sister of Rains oasis with the witch Qoha’dar,” she said. “When my mistress died, I buried her book of magic spells in the ruins of the ancient fort that stands there.”
“What does this have to do with gods?” demanded Sa’ar.
Ruha smiled and turned her attention to the stout sheikh. “With that book, my magic would be much improved,” she said. “Lander and I will go to the Sister of Rains to recover it, then meet you at Elah’zad in ten days.”
“But, from here, that means crossing the Shoal of Thirst—twice!” Kadumi objected. “It can’t be done!”
“That’s right,” the widow said, fixing her gaze on Sa’ar. “If we reach Elah’zad with the spellbook, it will surely be a sign that the gods favor my magic. If we don’t, then … well, everyone knows what that will mean.”
Lander rose and smiled at Sa’ar. “Is that acceptable?”
“You have no idea what you’re riding into.”
“Nevertheless, do you agree?”
Sa’ar looked to his counterpart, who nodded. “It is their bones At’ar will bleach,” Utaiba said. “And if they should survive, it will truly be a sign from the gods.”
“Then it is decided,” Sa’ar said, standing.
Utaiba also rose, indicating the meeting had come to an end. As the circle of warriors followed the lead of their sheikhs and began to break up, Kabina yelled in astonishment, then fell headfirst to the ground. The other warriors laughed at his clumsiness.
“Quiet, you fools!” snarled the Mahwai, scowling. “There’s something here.”
Kabina reached out and clutched at the empty air. A familiar voice uttered a shriek, then the sand near Kabina erupted as something hit the ground. A noise followed, as of something tearing, and the burly warrior was left holding the tattered hood of a white burnoose in his hand. “A djinn!” he cried.
“That’s no djinn, it’s Bhadla!” Lander corrected. He reached for his sword and stepped toward Kabina. “I recognize the man’s yelp. He must be spying on us for the Zhentarim!”
Utaiba intercepted the Harper. “The spy was intruding on our council,” the sheikh said. “You must leave this to us.” He turned to the warriors. “You men, find the intruder!”
The warriors drew their scimitars and began waving them through the air in tentative, uncertain slashes. Their brows were arched in skeptical, worried expressions.
“If this is a D’tarig and not a djinn, why can’t we see him?” Sa’ar asked, echoing the concerns in the hearts of all his men.
Lander looked into the sheikh’s eyes and said one word, “Magic.”
Within a few moments, it became apparent that the warriors were not going to locate the invisible spy by slashing randomly through the air. Lander turned to Ruha. “Bhadla’s probably gone by now, but do you have any spells that will reveal his location?”
Utaiba did not allow the widow to reply. “No magic,” he ordered. “You have not crossed the Shoal of Thirst yet.”
The search continued for a few minutes more before Kabina located the spy’s tracks and led the warriors off to stalk him. Ruha did not think they had much chance for success, for the D’tarig had a good headstart and it would be difficult to trail him when he reached a patch of rocky ground.
“Do you think he heard our plans?” she asked Lander.
The Harper nodded. “We have to assume he did.”
“I would not worry,” Sa’ar said. “The Zhentarim will find it no easier to cross the Shoal of Thirst than you. If they try to follow, they will meet a slow and terrible death.” He paused and gave Ruha a mocking grin. “Unless, of course, it is the gods’ will that they catch you.”
“And what of your council?” Lander asked. “If Bhadla heard where it is to be held, the Zhentarim will be sure to go there.”
“I doubt anyone who is not Bedine knows of Elah’zad,” Utaiba answered. “The oasis is well hidden, and that is why we picked it. Even if the spy knows Elah’zad, there is little we can do. The messengers have already been sent. Trying to change the site would only result in hopeless confusion.”
Sa’ar nodded his agreement. “The best thing that we can do is leave this place quickly. Once the spy reports to his masters, they will realize how few we are and may try to attack.” The stout sheikh turned to Kadumi and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You may ride with my tribe. We always have use for a sharp sword.”
The youth shook his head, saying, “I will go with my sister-in-law and the berrani.”
Ruha turned to the boy. “You have been wounded, and I am not what your brother thought I was when he married me,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I do not think that family honor dictates you protect me any longer.”
“This has nothing to do with family honor,” Kadumi answered. “You and Lander saved my life last night, and you will need me and my camels in the shoal.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage,” the widow said. “An extra person will only—”
“Let the boy come if he likes. It’s his choice,” Lander said, grinning at the young warrior. “Besides, he’s right. Somebody’s going to have to take care of me.”
Kadumi smiled at the Harper’s joke, then turned to Ruha and asked, “Do you really think we can cross the Shoal of Thirst?”
“I’ve already crossed it,” Ruha said. “After leaving the Sister of Rains two years ago, this is the first oasis I came to.”
The widow did not add that her camels had been freshly watered and grazed before she had ventured into the Shoal of Thirst the first time, or that they had all died, leaving her to walk the last ten miles on foot.
Thirteen
Ruha could not stop thinking about the extra waterskins. Perhaps the mouths weren’t tied properly, she worried. Perhaps one has developed a friction hole. Despite her anxiety, the witch resisted the temptation to stop the small caravan
and inspect the skins. She had already done so twice that day and knew her fears to be unwarranted. Her preoccupation was caused more by her thirst than by valid concerns.
Though five days had passed since parting from the Mahwa and Raz’hadi, it had only been four days since she and her companions had descended into the Shoal of Thirst. The great basin stretched for miles in all directions, as flat as a pan and as endless as the sky. Gleaming salts covered the entire valley, making it seem as though the trio was riding across a cloud. Ruha’s eyes ached from the constant sting of salt, and her throat was clogged with mordant-tasting grit.
Ruha tried not to think about the two days of travel remaining before she and her companions reached the Sister of Rains. She also tried to forget that as soon as they arrived, they would have to turn around and spend another three days in the northern tip of the Shoal of Thirst in order to reach Elah’zad in time to help the tribes gathered there.
Instead Ruha focused her thoughts a few hours ahead. At’ar hung only three spans above the horizon, an orange disc without heat or brilliance. Dusk was slowly approaching, and after it fell, the trio would ride for perhaps two more hours. When the camels began to snort and groan with exhaustion, the trio would stop and wash the salt from their parched throats with warm milk. No one would drink any water, for they were saving it for their mounts. During the crossing, the camel’s milk would serve as both food and water.
Lander suddenly stopped and turned around, inspecting the salt-crusted ground behind him with one bloodshot, red-rimmed eye. Although the day was still hot, he wore his jellaba over his shoulders. The heavy cloak trapped a layer of clammy air next to the body, keeping the wearer from dehydrating so quickly. Unlike Ruha and Kadumi, though, Lander did not wear his jellaba wrapped tightly around himself. It hung loose and open at the throat, allowing precious body moisture to escape.
Ruha dutifully stopped the haggard string of camels. Although there had been no sign of Zhentarim pursuers for two days, the Harper continued to search the horizon at irregular intervals.
