The Parched sea

'But neither can we ignore our pact with the Qahtan. We swore that their enemies were ours,' cried a sonorous voice that could only belong to the tribe's strongest man, Nata. 'So let us scatter the women and children in the desert. With so many men and beasts, the invaders need a lot of water. We'll poison the wells within a hundred miles. The invaders will die within a week.'

'What will we drink?' queried an elder. 'And what will the other tribes think of us? Surely they will all swear a blood feud against us for such a sacrilege.'

'The witch has brought this upon us,' said a warrior. 'Just as she brought it upon the Qahtan.'

'Fool, do you think the Zhentarim will disappear when she leaves us?' demanded Al'Aif. 'We must be concerned with the invaders, not her.'

Ruha listened to the argument for several minutes and realized that it had long ago degenerated into angry shouting and the stubborn reiteration of contradictory positions. She was just about to turn and leave when she heard her father's weary voice rise above the rest. 'Here is what we will tell the Zhentarim!'

The tent quieted immediately.

'You have argued for a full day without coming to any understanding,' he said. 'Therefore, it is my duty as sheikh to decide for us all.'

Muffled murmurs of weary agreement came from inside the tent, and then Ruha's father continued. 'Let any warrior who will not do as I ask leave the khowwan and call his family by some other name than that of the Mtair Dhafir.'

A surprised mumble rustled from inside the tent, for Ruha's father was invoking the sheikh's ultimate threat to secure obedience to his will: that of banishment. It was a risky thing to do. If too many families took him at his word, the tribe would dissolve.

Whatever her father had decided, Ruha realized, he was determined that his decision would be the tribe's.

'We cannot fight the Zhentarim,' the sheikh began. 'They are too many and we are too few.'

The tent rumbled with disgruntled murmuring.

'Neither can we become their slaves, for the children of the lion were born to roam free.'

Again, discontent resounded throughout the tent.

The sheikh continued steadily. 'Here is what we must do. We will agree to serve the Zhentarim as guides, biding our time and always keeping our camels ready for a long journey. Sooner or later, Kozah will send another storm, or the Zhentarim will grow unwatchful, or their army will dwindle as At'ar takes her due. When that happens, we will take our camels and disappear into the desert, leaving the Zhentarim and our troubles far behind.'

A murmur of reluctant consensus whispered from the tent, but no one protested too loudly or threatened to force the sheikh to make good on his threat. Ruha realized that her father had developed the only compromise that would hold the tribe together.

Al'Aif was the only warrior to question the sheikh's plan. 'Of course, I will do as you say, Sheikh,' he said slowly. 'But I do not like this plan. What if Kozah does not send another storm? What if the Zhentarim do not grow lax?'

Several warriors added their voices to Al'Aif's question, but the sheikh was ready with an answer. 'If we cannot escape within six months, my friends, I promise that we will slit the throats of more invaders in one night than we could hope to kill by fighting now.'

Save for Al'Aif, both the warriors and the elders greeted the sheikh's contingency plan with hearty approval, but Ruha could not help feeling they were fooling themselves. Remembering the shrewd, appraising eyes of the pale man that had accompanied Zarud, she suspected that the Zhentarim had already thought of this plan and developed a method to counter it.

'Now fetch Zarud, boy,' the sheikh said. 'The sooner we tell him what we have decided, the sooner we will be free again.'

A moment later, the servant left the khreima and started for the far side of camp. Hoping to tell her father about Lander before the boy returned with the Zhentarim, Ruha entered the tent.

In the dim light cast by the flickering butter lamps, she saw that her father sat in his usual place at the head of the tent. To his left sat the five elders of the tribe, and across from them were seated Al'Aif, Nata, and four more warriors. As Ruha approached her father, they all turned toward her with disapproving frowns. In the Mtair Dhafir, decision-making was men's business and women were not welcome at the councils.

Ruha ignored their stern gazes and looked directly to her father. 'I have heard your decision. Before-'

'Our decision does not concern you, witch,' interrupted Nata.

Ruha turned her stare on the burly warrior. Speaking in a calm, even voice, she said, 'That is just as well, Nata. I would rather live a shunned life than share slave bonds with you.'

The warrior's face darkened with anger, and he tried to stammer a reply, but Ruha turned back to her father before he could spout any words.

'Father, before you commit your tribe to this course of action, there is something I would like to show you.'

The old man furrowed his brow. 'Then show me quickly.'

Ruha glanced at the curious eyes to either side of her. She still felt that revealing Lander's presence in front of all these men would be the same as telling Zarud herself. 'It is for your eyes alone.'

Angry mutters and grunts rustled throughout the tent. Her fattier looked from the warriors to the elders, then said, 'Did you not tell me everything you knew earlier today?'

Ruha nodded. 'There is something else.'

'If it is important, then you can tell me here,' the sheikh said. 'Otherwise, it will have to wait.'

'Then it will wait' Ruha sighed.

As she turned to depart, the servant boy returned with Zarud, Kadumi following on their heels.

'If it pleases you, Sheikh, I would like to hear what you have decided,' Kadumi announced, pausing at the tent entrance.

Sighing, the sheikh waved the boy into the tent. 'You deserve to know.'

Glancing grimly at her brother-in-law, Ruha started to step past him and Zarud. As she passed, the Zhentarim caught her by the arm and shook his head, then said something in a language she did not understand and motioned for her to stay.

Ruha looked to her father, and he nodded.

Zarud took the widow's sleeve, then gently tugged her along as he stepped into the center of the semi-circle of the sheikh's council. When he stopped, both the warriors and elders frowned at his presumption in touching a Bedine woman. Ruha pulled free of his grasp.

Paying no attention to either the widow or the advisors, the Zhentarim asked a question. No one spoke his language, but there was no need to understand his words to know he requested the Mtair Dhafir's decision about the treaty. In the eyes of every Bedine present, however, there was an unspoken question: why had he wanted a woman, especially Ruha, to stay?

The sheikh glanced at his daughter, then looked back to Zarud, carefully masking whatever curiosity he felt behind a blank face. 'The Mtair Dhafir accept your treaty,' he said, nodding his head.

Wry grins crossed the lips of several elders and warriors. The sheikh had sworn no loyalty and pledged no friendship. In Bedine terms, at least, Sabkhat had not bound them to any alliance.

Smiling, Zarud inclined his head to the sheikh, then to the elders and the warriors. He spoke some more words that no one understood. The men of the Mtair looked from one to another with querying eyebrows and blank eyes.

Zarud spoke again, this time grasping Ruha's wrist and pointing toward the Bitter Well, where the Zhentarim were camped. He put his hand in front of his mouth and made speaking motions, then did the same for the widow.

'He wants to take her to teach them our language,' concluded an elder.

Ruha jerked her wrist free. 'Never!'

The Zhentarim grabbed her arm again, nodding and speaking sharply. He pointed to two elders, then to Al'Aif and Nata, and then toward the Bitter Well again.

'Why does he need with so many teachers?' demanded Nata. 'This isn't right!'

Kadumi stepped toward Zarud, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his jambiya. He