The Parched sea h-1 Page 10

  "Wait!" Lander called. "They're gone!"

  Ruha turned around and saw that he was correct. The goats had disappeared, as had her wind wall. In their place stood the white, translucent figure of an unveiled woman. Her face was young and strong-featured, though there was a certain weariness to her countenance that gave her a lonely and heartbroken appearance. She was studying Ruha with an expression of sisterly sorrow.

  "Kadumi! Come back! They're gone," called Lander. Without waiting to see if the youth heard him, the berrani turned and started back up the mountain. "We'd better get off this narrow ridge before something else happens."

  "Wait," Ruha said, still looking past him to the translucent form of the goddess. "How do you know Rahalat has given us her permission?"

  Lander looked directly at the place where the form of the goddess was standing. "There's nothing there," he said. "Just a moonlit rock."

  Rahalat gave Ruha a sly smile, then suddenly looked in the direction of the Bitter Well. She scowled in displeasure, and then the goddess was gone.

  Ruha led her camels across the rest of the spine, puzzling over the appearance of the goddess and the meaning of her final frown. From Lander's reaction, it was apparent that Rahalat had permitted only the widow to see her, and from that Ruha deduced that she was being shown some sort of special favor. She could not decide, however, whether the glance in the Bitter Well's direction had been a warning of some sort or whether the goddess had merely seen something in that direction that she did not like.

  When Ruha reached Lander's side, he asked, "You didn't make that wall of force that saved us?"

  "What's a wall of force?" Ruha asked, turning to look down the mountain. "Is Kadumi coming?"

  The question was unnecessary, for the youth was already crossing the rock spine. He paused in the center long enough to cast a regretful glance down at his dead gelding. Then, a sheepish expression on his face, he rejoined them without saying anything.

  Lander resumed his climb, finally calling a halt atop a section of steep crags and two-thousand foot cliffs that overlooked the oasis spring. Ruha could see the embers of the Mtairi campfires spread out in a semi-circle against the base of the mountain. In the darkness, she could not see individual silhouettes moving about the camp, but there was no sign of torches, so she assumed the trio's escape remained unnoticed.

  Beyond the camp, the alabaster crests of the whaleback dunes and ebony ribbons of their dark troughs created an eerie sea of black and white that stretched clear to the eastern horizon. Somewhere to the northeast, Ruha knew, was the Bitter Well and the Zhentarim army.

  "I thought we had walked farther," Kadumi commented.

  "We did," Lander answered. "The only way to get here is around the back of the mountain. If anyone comes after us, we'll see them leave camp long before they reach us."

  "Still," Ruha said, "it would be best not to let them see our silhouettes on this ridge."

  The berrani nodded, then led the way a few paces down the other side of the shoulder. As Lander and Kadumi tethered the camels, Ruha heard the faint tones of an amarat horn. Her first thought was that their absence had been discovered, and she quickly scrambled back up the shoulder.

  A moment later, Ruha knew she was wrong. She crested the ridge in time to see a bolt of light flash in the dunes outside the oasis, then a muffled peal of thunder rumbled up the mountainside. More amarat horns sounded.

  "Zhentarim!" she gasped.

  By the time Kadumi and Lander joined her, flickering pinpoints of torchlight were dancing between the khreimas. A solid line of the torches was forming at the edge of the camp.

  "It appears Al'Aif got his wish after all," Lander commented. "The Zhentarim must know that Zarud was killed."

  "How could they know so soon?" Kadumi asked. "That was only a few hours ago."

  "Magic or spies," Ruha suggested. "Do they always attack so quickly after an insult?"

  "The Zhentarim are careful planners," Lander said, his eyes fixed on the scene below. "As soon as Zarud presented their treaty, they probably started moving their army forward-just in case the sheikh did not accept their terms."

  A familiar knot of cold dread formed in Ruha's stomach. "The Mtair will be slaughtered, just like the Qahtan."

  Neither of her companions contradicted her.

  Seven

  "Where are the dead?"

  The question was Kadumi's, but it troubled Lander and Ruha as well. The trio was perched on Rahalat's shoulder, at the top of a steep face of barren rock that dropped over two thousand feet to the campsite at the base of the mountain. The sun was just rising, and they were getting their first view of the devastated khowwan of the Mtair Dhafir.

  From such a distance, the three survivors could make out only a few details of the scene below. Every khreima in the camp had been knocked down. The Zhentarim had tethered the Mtair's camels in a tight circle and were looting the possessions of the Mtair Dhafir. Hundreds of columns of gray smoke rose from campfires spread around the base of the mountain, and the camel drivers were taking their beasts to drink from the spring in small groups.

  Missing from the scene were what Lander had most expected to see: the bodies of the Mtair Dhafir. At such a distance, it was impossible to tell a tribesman from an invader, for men looked like dark specks crawling across the pale sands. What troubled Lander and his companions was that all the dark specks were moving. If the Bedine were lying at the base of the mountain, at least two hundred of the dark specks would have been quite still.

  "Perhaps the Mtair escaped," Kadumi whispered. "It was dark, and we could not see what was truly happening."

  The trio had spent the night watching the battle, but they had not seen much. After the amarats had sounded a second time, the torches on the battleline went out, presumably extinguished by the warriors themselves in order to keep from drawing attention to their positions. A few minutes had passed, then muted cries had begun to drift up the mountainside.

  In camp, the women, marked by the flickering lights of their torches, had scurried about, collecting children and supplies with renewed frenzy. As the Mtairi battle cries grew more desperate, the women had assembled on the far side of the camp, then fled the battlefield.

  Before the line of yellow flames had traveled fifty yards, a muffled chorus of surprised screams had heralded an invader ambush. The refugees had scattered, but their torches had started to wink out immediately.

  Recalling the agonized shriek that had accompanied each dying light, Lander knew that even if some of the women had escaped, there were many more who had not. The sand should have been carpeted with their bodies and with the bodies of the warriors who had died at the battleline.

  Lander shook his head. "Everybody couldn't have escaped, Kadumi." The Sembian did not bother to speak in a hushed voice. With the Zhentarim nearly a half-mile away, there was no chance of being overheard. "There should be dozens of corpses at the very least. Do you see any?"

  "No corpses," Ruha answered. She pointed at a knot of dark specks gathered at the tent in which the trio had been held last night. "But I don't like what is happening there."

  As she spoke, the gathering began to break into groups of ten or twelve. As each group left, it moved in a different direction.

  "Search parties!" Lander said.

  Kadumi's brow furrowed. "Are they searching for-"

  "Me," Lander said, assuming that his enemies learned of his presence from a captured Mtair. "Perhaps we should separate. If they find me, the Zhentarim might stop looking."

  Ruha regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Her dark eyes flashed with what Lander took to be irritation, then she said, "Either you have a very low opinion of Kadumi and I, or an exaggerated sense of your own importance, berrani."

  "That's not what I mean," Lander protested, feeling himself flush in embarrassment. "But if the Zhentarim know I am here, they won't stop searching until they find me."

  "Why is that?" asked Kadumi suspiciously.

 
Lander considered the boy's question for a moment, then decided that he should reveal his identity to his companions so that they might understand the danger into which they were moving. He opened his robe and displayed the pin that he wore over his heart. "I belong to an organization called the Harpers," he said. "We work to protect the freedom of people everywhere, and that often places us into opposition against the Zhentarim."

  "As in this case?" Ruha asked.

  "Yes," the Harper answered. "If they catch you with me, it will mean a slow and agonizing death."

  "If they catch us without you, it will mean a slow and agonizing death," Ruha countered. "The Zhentarim whom Al'Aif killed had a companion. That man knows that Kadumi and I came here to warn my father about the Black Robes, and he may even suspect that we had something to do with the murder. So we lose nothing by staying together, unless you feel you would be safer without a boy and a woman to defend. Of course, I don't know how long a berrani can expect to survive in Anauroch with no guides…"

  The irony in Ruha's tone did not escape Lander. He raised his hand to quiet her. "Your point is well taken," he said. "Together, we all stand a better chance of surviving."

  When Ruha nodded, the Sembian started to crawl back down the ridge toward the camels.

  The widow caught his arm before he gone two steps. "Where are you going?"

  "We'd better leave," he said. "If the Zhentarim find us up here, we'll be trapped."

  Ruha shook her head. "Rahalat will not allow the Zhentarim on her slopes."

  "How can you be sure?" Lander asked. The phantom goats had convinced him of Rahalat's existence, though he suspected she was a ghost and not a goddess. In either case, he saw no reason to believe she would protect them.

  Ruha glanced toward the mountain's summit. "If Rahalat did not favor us, we would be dead. I doubt that she will favor the Zhentarim."

  Lander glanced at Kadumi. "What do you think?"

  The youth looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "What my sister-in-law says makes sense," he said. "Besides, we would only draw attention to ourselves by moving. We should wait."

  "I hope you're right," he said, crouching behind the ridge crest. "If I know the Zhentarim, they won't stop searching until they've scoured every inch of the oasis. Let's take care not to let them see us up here."

  Lander motioned for the other two to conceal themselves in the rocks, and they did as asked. Their hiding places overlooked not only the camp, but the approach up the ridge as well. Even if Rahalat did not keep the Zhentarim off the mountain, the Sembian felt confident that they would see the enemy in plenty of time to flee.

  The trio crouched on the ridge for most of the morning, watching the specks below scurry about their business. Soon, the Zhentarim began butchering the Mtair Dhafir's camels, and the breeze carried the smell of roasting meat up to them. Lander's mouth began to water, bringing back the memory of the special feasts he and his father had once shared.

  As a merchant, Lander's father often ventured up the Arkhen River to purchase fruits, farm produce, and freshwater crabs. The people of the valley were haughty and arrogant, so Lander had often gone along on these trips to keep his father company. He and his father would sit in country taverns until late at night, eating roasted mutton and discussing the highest price they would pay for the next day's goods. Even then, Lander had never believed his advice was truly needed, but he had looked forward to the trips eagerly. For the son of a traveling merchant, any opportunity to spend time with his father had been precious.

  Unfortunately, the meat making Lander's mouth water was camel instead of sheep, and Rahalat's barren shoulder was a poor substitute for the humid valley of ferns and lilies. Now Archendale's abundant orchards and sweet waters seemed a distant and fantastic mirage, much as Anauroch's empty wastes and scorched mountains would have seemed a bad dream to him then.

  The Sembian opened his waterskin and took a long drink, trying to wash the recollection away before it became distressing. It didn't help. He was hungry and the smell of roasting meat automatically triggered memories of every feast he had ever eaten, especially memories he had thought long forgotten.

  Trying to keep his mind focused on stopping the enemy's plans in Anauroch, Lander began to count the specks in the camp below. Sooner or later, he knew, the Bedine would fight the Zhentarim. When they did, it would be useful for them to know just what they were up against.

  It was not an easy task, for invaders kept moving from fire to fire. Occasionally, one patrol returned to camp and scattered to a dozen different fires to eat, while another group left to take its place. Lander found that he had to keep track of the Zhentarim by scratching a grid in the ground and moving pebbles from one place to another to represent every ten specks that moved.

  As Lander was finishing his count, Kadumi crawled to his side and peered over the Sembian's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

  "Counting the Zhentarim," Lander replied.

  "And how many are there?" asked Ruha, turning to face the pair.

  Lander looked at the grid, then added the figures in his head. "I would guess about fifteen hundred."

  "Impossible!" Kadumi objected.

  "At least we know why they're so hungry," Ruha said, studying the cooking fires down in the camp. "The largest khowwan I've ever heard of numbers only three hundred. The invaders will never find enough grazing to keep all their camels in milk."

  "Or enough game to fill their stewpots," Kadumi added.

  "They don't need to," Lander replied. "The Zhentarim don't intend to be in the desert long. They're carrying all the food they need on their camels."

  "You mean they'll go away in a few months?" Ruha asked, her voice growing hopeful.

  Lander shook his head. "No. A few months are all the Zhentarim need to complete their task. They'll subdue a dozen khowwans, then use hostages, bribery, and violence to enslave the tribesmen. Once their powerbase is secure, they'll take their army away and use the tribes they control to overpower the others. Before the Bedine realize what's happened, the entire desert will belong to the Black Robes. The only way to stop them is to drive the Zhentarim from the desert."

  "Then the Bedine are doomed," Kadumi said, pointing at the specks in the camp. "No tribe can stand against so many."

  Lander frowned and pulled the boy's arm down. "Of course not. Any tribe that fights the Zhentarim alone will meet the same fate as the Mtair Dhafir and the Qahtan. We'll need a hundred tribes."

  Ruha and Kadumi looked skeptical. "That's impossible," Kadumi said. "No tribe has that many allies."

  Lander shook his head. "Kadumi, this isn't a matter of traditional alliances. Tribes that have never heard of each other must ride and fight under the same banner. They're all battling a common enemy."

  "It will never-"

  Ruha interrupted Kadumi's reply with an alarmed gasp. Pointing over Lander's back, she cried, "Look out!"

  Lander reached for the jambiya at his waist with one hand and for his sword with the other. The effort made his wounded shoulder burn with agony. He clenched his teeth, then pulled the blades from their sheathes and spun around on his knees to meet the unseen attacker.

  There was no one there. Fearing his enemy to be cloaked by invisibility, Lander jumped to his feet. He sliced through the air in front of him with the scimitar, then crossed the pattern with a slash from his dagger. Neither blade hit a target. Groaning with pain, Lander took one step backward and repeated the pattern first to his right and then to his left. Still nothing.

  The Sembian backed away one more step. Kadumi moved next to him, scimitar drawn but held in a confused and tentative low guard.

  "Where is it, Ruha?" Lander demanded.

  There was no answer.

  "Ruha, I can't see it," the Harper repeated.

  When there was still no response, Lander hazarded a glance over his shoulder.

  Ruha was staring at him as if he were ghost. Her eyes were glassy, and she had a confused, distant expression on her b
row.

  "Is something wrong?" the Harper asked, beginning to suspect that the cause for her alarm had not been an attacker. "Are you sick?"

  The widow did not respond to the question. Instead, she looked him over from head to toe, then took the material of his filthy robe between her fingers. "Blessings to Rahalat," Ruha said. "You're alive."

  "Of course he is," Kadumi said, scowling. "So am I. What made you think otherwise?"

  Ruha shook her head, then said, "I saw a Black Robe behind Lander-or at least I thought I did. He had a dagger." She squinted toward the sun, then shook her head. "It must have been At'ar."

  Kadumi sheathed his dagger and took his sister-in-law by the arm. "You're getting sun-sick again," he said. "Let's find some shade and get you a drink of water."

  Ruha started to protest, then seemed to think better of it and allowed Kadumi to lead her off the ridge.

  Lander crouched back down and peered over the rocky slope to the camp. To his relief, he saw no sign that the Zhentarim had not noticed their excitement. The flea-sized spots were still milling calmly about camp.

  After assuring himself that they remained undetected, the Sembian found a hiding place on the shady side of a boulder. Gently rubbing his wounded shoulder, he drank down one of the healing potions Florin had given him, then followed it with a long swallow from his waterskin.

  For the next few hours, Lander remained on watch while Kadumi tended Ruha. Nothing happened, save that a dozen vultures came to hover over the camp. With their red-rimmed eyes, nude heads, and snakelike necks, the birds normally appeared grotesque and repulsive to Lander. Watching them from above, as they circled a few yards below the ridge, was almost enough to change the Sembian's opinion. Their magnificent wingspan, gleaming black feathers, and keen ebony eyes gave a proud, almost noble streak to their character.

  A vulture glanced up and fixed its dark stare on Lander's hiding place. A chill ran down his spine, for in the bird's look he saw the sable eyes of his mother. The expression seemed at once rapacious and dangerous, devoid of tenderness and demanding of veneration. The Harper's stomach knotted with an emotion somewhere between fear and anger. He felt his mother reaching out from Cyric's palace, imploring him to remember her face, to open his mind to her now as he had refused to open his spirit when she lived.