The Parched sea

'And you massacred them,' Ruha finished spitefully.

The man shrugged, and an artificial smile crept across his lips. 'You and the boy are alive. That is what's important, is it not?' He turned to Ruha's father and inclined his head respectfully. 'Lord Zarud has extended the hand of the Zhentarim in friendship. You may ask the Qahtani about the consequences of refusing it.' Even as he uttered the warning, his words remained as sweet as nectar.

The threat seemed to kindle a light in the old sheikh's eyes, but they grew confused and vacant again almost immediately. He turned toward Zarud, then said, 'This is not a decision I can make alone. I will consult with the elders tomorrow, and then we will give you our decision. Until then, you may stay as a guest in my camp.'

Zarud nodded. 'I am confident you will make a wise decision.'

Without looking away from Zarud, Ruha's father pointed at the pale man. 'Your servant-if that is what he truly is-must go. He has used magic in my tent, and that I cannot abide.'

Zarud looked panicked. 'How will we talk?'

The pale man raised a hand to comfort his fellow. 'Whatever the answer may be, I am sure Sheikh Sabkhat will make it known to you.' He gave Ruha a long, thoughtful glance, then continued, 'If my presence makes our host uneasy, then it would be better if I left. Perhaps you will walk me to my camel and tell me what I should relay to our masters-provided, of course, that the sheikh can secure our release.'

Ruha's father scowled at Al'Aif. 'The time has come to release our guests, unless you intend to kill them against my wishes.'

The gaunt warrior reluctantly nodded to Kadumi, then they both stepped away from their captives. Neither one of them sheathed their weapons until the two Zhentarim had left the khreima.

Ruha's father returned to his seat, then held his head in his hands for several minutes. When the sheikh finally looked up, his face was ashen and his brow drooping with fatigue. The light had returned to his eyes, though, and the widow could tell that her father had regained control of his own will.

'Are you well, Sheikh?' asked Al'Aif.

'Who can say? I thought I was well before, but my judgment was apparently clouded,' the old man answered. He turned to his daughter with genuine hurt in his eyes, then said, 'Ruha, I cannot tell you how sad it makes me to see you here.'

Ruha understood exactly what her father meant. As a man, he loved his daughter. At the same time, he was the tribe's sheikh and her presence would open a wide schism in the gathered families. Her return could only force him to make a decision as painful for him as it would be for her.

'Don't be sad for me, Father,' the widow said. 'I only returned to warn you of the danger that destroyed the Qahtan. I have no wish to burden the Mtair Dhafir.'

Kadumi betrayed his bewilderment at this comment by furrowing his brow, but he politely waited for the sheikh to address him and did not say anything.

The sheikh pondered Ruha's answer for a moment, then wearily nodded his head. 'You have always performed your duty well.' He turned to Kadumi and raised an eyebrow.

'This is Kadumi,' Ruha said, reacting to her father's signal of interest. 'He is a son of the same mother as Ajaman.'

The sheikh nodded grimly. 'The Mtair Dhafir always have need of another blade. Al'Aif will make you welcome in his tent, I am sure.'

Kadumi's eyes lit, and he could not restrain a proud smile, for the sheikh was treating him as a full warrior. Nevertheless, the youth glanced toward Ruha. 'You are kind, but in my brother's absence, I must watch over his wife.'

The young widow and Al'Aif grimaced simultaneously.

Reaching for her brother-in-law's arm, the widow said, 'Kadumi, perhaps there is something I should say to you-'

The sheikh waved a weary hand to cut her off. 'Say it later,' he ordered. Turning to the boy, he said, 'Ruha will be welcome in the khreimas of her father for as long as she cares to stay. Now, you will excuse us. I must hear exactly what happened to the Qahtan.'

Five

Ruha spent the next two hours describing to her father what had happened to the Qahtan. Listening with growing concern, the old sheikh repeatedly interrupted her with questions, especially when she described the white bolt that had killed Ajaman and the lizardlike humanoids that had led the attack. When the widow at last finished the story, her father made her repeat the entire thing to be sure she hadn't missed anything.

Finally he shook his weary head. 'The strangers speak with the honeyed tongues of bees, but it seems their bite carries the venom of a scorpion. I doubt we can trust them to keep their treaty, but I fear what they will do if we do not agree to it. This will be a difficult decision.'

With that, he sent a messenger to summon the elders to council, then instructed his servant to take Ruha to her khreima. The boy led her to a small tent that had been erected a hundred yards outside the camp circle. Had she been a normal guest, one of her father's wives would have invited the young widow to stay in her tent. Instead, Ruha knew, this khreima had been erected especially for her.

The tent was large enough to hold ten or twelve people. It had been stocked with several carpets, a kuerabiche to use as a pillow, and an empty waterskin. Though exhausted from last night's long ride and the interrogation her father had given her, Ruha took the waterskin and went toward the spring. If she did not fill it before she went to sleep, she would have nothing to drink when she woke, hot and thirsty, in the afternoon heat.

As the widow approached the gully, she realized that something was wrong. Instead of the lyrical babble of the spring, she heard the raucous cries of alarmed birds. Ruha's first thought was that the Zhentarim were coming to attack, but she quickly realized that was impossible. She had heard no warning amarat horns, and it was inconceivable that an entire army had sneaked past the Mtair sentries in broad daylight.

Ruha crept along the edge of the ravine toward the alarmed birds. She moved slowly and cautiously, for she had long ago learned the value of prudence in the desert. It took fifteen minutes of crawling on hands and knees, carefully staying hidden behind the thin cover of qassis bushes, to reach the disturbance.

When she finally peered over the edge of the gulch, the widow gasped at what she saw lying ten yards below, in the bottom of the ravine. A dozen larks were perched in the twigs of the ghaf trees lining the small stream, screeching madly at a figure lying face-down in the stream. He wore a sand-colored aba and his keffiyeh was nowhere to be seen. Ruha immediately realized that he was no Bedine, for his head was topped by long golden hair.

The widow watched the motionless man for a moment, wondering how he had managed to sneak past her father's sentries. Ruha concluded that he must have come during the night. She started to back away, intending to summon her father's warriors.

The man lifted his head, cocking it as if to listen. It was then that Ruha realized she had seen him before. A black patch covered his left eye, and the pale skin of his face was red and blistered with sunburn. He was the man she had seen in her vision, who had appeared on the wake of the Zhentarim army.

A short, featherless arrow protruded from his right breast, and there was a dark stain below the wound. Ruha recognized the short shaft as being similar to the ones that had been used to slaughter the Qahtan. It appeared that the one-eyed berrani was no friend of the Zhentarim. That made the man her ally, for, as Al'Aif had whispered to her earlier that day, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.'

As Ruha contemplated what to do next, the stranger astonished her by looking in her direction. Ruha had not made the slightest sound while watching the man, and felt confident that she was well-concealed behind the lip of the gulch and the qassis bush. Yet the wounded man clearly knew she was there. Automatically she lifted a hand to make sure her veil was in place.