The Parched sea

Her relief was short-lived. Pointing at the blood crusted around the stranger's bandage, Nata asked, 'If you killed the Zhentarim, why is the blood on your wound so old?'

'A good question, but one that should not be answered tonight,' the sheikh said. 'Put the stranger with Kadumi and my daughter. We will sort this out in the morning, after our heads have cleared and our tempers have settled.'

As the rest of the tribe returned to their beds, Nata supervised the internment of the prisoners. While his son fetched some rope, the burly warrior took the trio to Ruha's tent. There, he bound their hands in front of their bodies, then tied their feet and carried each one into the tent. Finally he stationed his son at the door as a guard.

To Ruha's amazement, the berrani laid down on the carpet, as if he were going to sleep. 'Don't say anything you don't want overheard,' Lander said, closing his eyes. Soon, resting on his uninjured shoulder, he was snoring in great deep roars that would have harried a lion.

'How can he fall asleep like that?' Kadumi asked, seated with his bound feet stretched straight out in front of him.

'The berrani is injured,' Ruha answered. 'He might sleep until morning. We might do well to join him.'

Kadumi shook his head and silently mouthed something about Al'Aif, but Ruha could not make out what he was saying. Shrugging to indicate that she did not understand, she stretched out on her side. 'Try to get some sleep, Kadumi. You may not have a chance later.'

The boy nodded, then rolled onto his own side and closed his eyes.

Through half-closed eyes, Ruha watched Nata's son. By the way he wearily shifted his weight from one foot to another, she could tell he was tired. That was good, for it would make him easier to catch off-guard.

The guard continued standing as the camp returned to normal. When, at last, the place fell completely quiet and he could be sure his father had gone to bed, the young man sat down at the tent entrance. Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder to check on his prisoners, but his main concern seemed to be watching the camp so he could be sure that his father would not catch him at less than full attention.

Eventually the glances grew less frequent. Nata's son began to doze fitfully. His head would sink slowly until his chin touched his chest, then bob up and stay upright for a few minutes before slowly descending again. The time soon came when the guard's head did not rise again.

On her elbows and knees, Ruha crawled to the kuerabiche that Nata's son had found earlier. Taking care not to make any noise, she pulled the contents from the sack and laid them on the floor beside her: her spare aba, her veils, and, finally, Ajaman's jambiya.

As Ruha unsheathed the dagger, Kadumi's eyes opened and she realized that the boy had not been able to sleep. An instant later, a great smile crossed his face and she feared he would cry out for joy. The widow looked meaningfully toward the door, and the youth nodded that he understood.

Ruha freed herself first, then crawled to her brother-in-law. As she cut his bonds, she leaned close to his ear and whispered, 'Don't move yet.'

Kadumi nodded, then looked toward Lander. 'When you cut the berrani free, he may stop snoring.'

Ruha saw the point of the youth's concern immediately. Though the guard had dozed off, it seemed unlikely that he had fallen into a deep sleep. If Lander's snoring suddenly changed rhythm or ceased altogether, the guard might wake suddenly. No doubt he would glance inside the tent and realize something was amiss.

The only way to keep him from sounding the alarm was for Kadumi to silence the guard before he could reach his amarat. Ruha did not doubt that Kadumi could catch the guard unawares and kill the young warrior, but she did not cherish the idea of Nata hunting her with a blood price in mind.

As she considered the problem, an alarm horn sounded on the far side of the camp. Several men began shouting. The guard woke immediately and jumped to his feet, crying, 'What is it? What's wrong?' Fortunately he sensed the direction of the alarm, and his attention was turned toward the far side of camp.

Lander's eyes opened, but he continued to snore exactly as he had done since being interned in the tent. Ruha couldn't tell whether he had awakened instantly alert or had been pretending to sleep all the time.

Lander motioned toward his feet, still maintaining his snore. Taking the hint, Ruha cut the ropes with a quick slice. The berrani jumped to his feet and sprang toward the khreima's entrance as silently as a leopard stalking prey. In an instant, he slipped his bound hands over the guard's head. Pulling backward so that the rope caught the man across the throat, Lander dragged his victim back into the tent.

The berrani held his right arm pressed tightly against his side to avoid straining his injured shoulder, but the stranglehold still proved effective. Nata's son grasped at the arms looped around his neck and kicked at his attacker to no avail, and Lander controlled him easily.

Finally reacting to Lander's swift assault, Kadumi leaped to the berrani's side and pulled the man's jambiya from its scabbard.

'Don't kill him!' Ruha gasped.

'Never intended to,' Lander replied, tightening the choke.

Kadumi also did as she asked, though he raised his brow at the request. Among the Bedine, ending a man's life was not considered much different than killing any other animal-save that a man's family might try to avenge the death. Ruha feared that Kadumi, as a youth, might not give enough consideration to what this would mean in the case of a son of Nata.

The guard soon stopped struggling, and his body went limp. Lander quickly tied the guard's hands and feet, then massaged the unconscious boy's chest. In instant later, the guard coughed and resumed breathing. Lander took the boy's keffiyeh and stuffed the scarf into the guard's mouth as a gag, then bound him to a tent pole.

Kadumi relieved him of his belt, scimitar, and scabbards, then asked, 'What now?'

Before Ruha could answer, the sound of ripping fabric sounded from the rear of the khreima. The young widow spun around to see the blade of a scimitar slicing through the tent wall. Taking the guard's scimitar from Kadumi, Lander cautious stepped toward the gash, motioning to Kadumi and Ruha to do likewise.

An instant later, Al'Aif stepped through the hole he had just created. In one hand he held the scimitar that had opened the khreima, and in the other he held his jambiya. When he saw the trio standing unfettered and the unconscious guard bound to the tent pole, he raised an eyebrow and sheathed his dagger. 'You were expecting me, I see.'

Lander nodded, but Ruha and Kadumi stared at the scarred warrior with their mouths hanging agape.

'Come on,' Al'Aif said. 'Kadumi's camels are watered and packed.'

Ruha refused to move. 'You killed Zarud and were ready to let me pay the blood price,' she said, fingering her dagger. 'Why should I trust you now?'

'I do what I do for reasons of my own,' he answered, meeting her gaze squarely. 'I never intended to let Sheikh Sabkhat send you-or anyone else-to the Zhentarim. You can trust me.' He turned to the back wall of the tent and spread open the gash he had created, then motioned for Ruha to step through.

When Ruha still did not move, Lander urged her toward the exit. 'We can trust him. For his plan to work, he must help us escape. He killed the Zhentarim to prevent the tribe from allying with the invaders. If we're gone in the morning, the sheikh will have no choice except to flee.'

'Or to fight,' Al'Aif said.

'That would be very foolish,' Lander said. 'The Zhentarim have a large army and their commanders are sure to be capable.'

The scarred Mtairi shrugged. 'Fight or flee. It is the same to me-but never enslavement!' He reached toward Ruha to urge her through the slit, but the widow jerked her arm away and stepped outside before he could touch her.

Outside, the tasselled silhouettes of several qassis bushes perfumed the air with their stringent aromas. Fifty yards to the west, the bushy shadows of ghaf trees and the tinkle of the stream marked the gulch. On the other side of the tent, Rahalat's dark shape towered high over the