The Parched sea

Lander smiled grimly. 'Nothing, of course,' he replied. 'But if I had taken anything off the bodies of the dead- rings off their fingers or jewels from their scabbards, for example-I would also be anxious to leave.'

Musalim furrowed his barely visible brow, but Bhadla seemed unimpressed. 'Bah!' the older D'tarig said. 'The survivors will think the raiders took these things.'

Lander looked toward the sand dunes. 'I don't think so,' he said. The figure that had been watching them all morning was gone-but not far, he suspected. 'They've seen with their own eyes who looted the dead.'

Musalim's eyes opened wide. 'No, Lord!'

'I'm no lord,' Lander snapped. 'Don't address me as if I were.'

Bhadla's eyes narrowed. 'You're lying.'

'Not at all,' Lander replied. 'My father was a wealthy but untitled merchant of Archenbridge, and my mother was… well, there's no need to discuss her. Let's just say I'm no lord.'

Bhadla shook his turbaned head angrily. 'I don't care if your mother was a goat who gave milk of silver and urine of gold!' he yelled. 'Were the Bedine watching or not?'

Lander flashed a conciliatory smile. 'I never lie.'

The D'tarig uttered a curse in his own throaty language, then began pulling jewels and rings out of his pockets. Laying the booty on the camel-wool tent at Lander's side, he hissed, 'You should have told us!'

'You shouldn't have taken it,' Lander replied.

'It's not our fault,' Musalim complained, also emptying his pockets. 'Those who attack should take the plunder, not leave it to tempt us. Who razes an entire camp and steals nothing but camels?'

Studying the devastated oasis with a grim expression, Lander answered, 'The Zhentarim.'

'Black Robes?' Bhadla echoed. 'They couldn't have done this. They're just traders.'

Lander could understand Bhadla's misconception. The D'tarig lived on the fringes of Anauroch. They survived by goat herding, but the most adventurous and greedy ventured into the Great Desert. These 'desert walkers' collected resin from cassia, myrrh, and frankincense trees, then sold it to merchants sponsored by Zhentil Keep. The Zhentarim resold it to temples all over the realms for use as incense. As far as the D'tarig knew, the Black Robes were nothing more than good merchants.

'The Zhentarim are much more than traders,' Lander explained, turning to face Bhadla. 'They're an evil network of thieves, slave-takers, and murderers motivated by power, lust, and greed. They rule hundreds of towns and villages, control the governments of a dozen cities, and have placed spies in the elite circle of practically every nation in Faerun.'

Musalim shrugged. 'So?'

'The Zhentarim want to monopolize trade and control politics over all of Faerun,' Lander said. 'They want to make slaves of an entire continent.'

Dumping his last ring onto the collapsed tent, Bhadla said doubtfully, 'I don't believe that. Wealth is one thing, but who would want the trouble of so many slaves?'

The Sembian shook his head. 'I don't know why the Zhentarim want what they want, Bhadla,' he said. 'Maybe they're working on Cyric's behalf.'

'What is this Cyric?' interrupted Musalim, still searching the hidden pockets of his robe.

'He was once a man, but now he's a god-the god of death, murder, and tyranny,' Lander answered.

'In the desert, he is called N'asr,' Bhadla explained.

Musalim nodded thoughtfully, as if the god's involvement explained everything.

'The Bedine claim N'asr is the sun's lover,' Bhadla continued. 'The sun, At'ar, forsakes her lawful husband every night to sleep in N'asr's tent.'

Lander ran his fingers over the blisters on his sunburned face. 'I don't doubt it,' he said, squinting up at the sky. 'She certainly seems brutal enough to be Cyric's lover.'

'Perhaps N'asr, er, Cyric has sent the Zhentarim into the desert to kill At'ar's husband,' Musalim suggested. 'Jealousy has caused many murders.'

Lander chuckled. 'I don't think so, Musalim. In this case, I think they're after gold.'

'Gold?' Bhadla queried, perking up. 'There's none of that in Anauroch, is there?'

'They're not looking for gold in the desert,' Lander explained. 'They're going to carry it across the desert.' He pointed westward. 'Over there, two thousand miles beyond the horizon, lies Waterdeep, one of many cities of great riches.' Next, he pointed eastward. 'Over there, five hundred miles from the edge of the desert, are Zhentil Keep, Mulmaster, and the other ports of the Moonsea. They serve as the gateways to the ancient nations of the Heartlands and to the slave-hungry lands of the South.'

The two D'tarig frowned skeptically, and Lander guessed that the desert-walkers were having trouble imagining a world of such scope. 'In the center of all these cities are six-hundred miles of parched, burning sands that fewer than a dozen civilized men have ever crossed.'

Musalim picked up a handful of sand and let it slip through his fingers. 'You mean these sands?'

'Yes,' Lander confirmed. 'And whoever forges a trail through this desert controls the trade routes linking the eastern and western sides of Faerun.'

'There you are mistaken,' Bhadla said, his eyes sparkling with faintly kindled avarice. 'The land surrounding the desert belongs to the D'tarig, so we will control this trade.'

'If you think the Zhentarim will honor your territorial rights, you are the one who is mistaken,' Lander said. 'When the time comes, they will find a way to steal your land.'

'You underestimate us, Lord,' Bhadla said. 'The Zhentarim may have cheated many in your land, but they cannot beguile the D'tarig.' As if he had said all that needed to be said on the matter, the guide turned to Musalim. In D'tarig, he asked, 'Have you returned all you took from the Bedine?'

'Yes,' Musalim answered, a note of melancholy in his voice.

Bhadla turned back to Lander, then took the Sembian's arm and tugged him toward their camels. 'Come, it is time for us to ride.'

Lander refused to budge. 'I'm waiting for the Bedine.'

'If they have not come by now, they are not going to,' Musalim said. 'They are a shy people, and the survivors of what happened here are certain to be more so.'

'There are two more oases within two days' ride,' Bhadla added. 'Perhaps another tribe will be camped at one of them.'

Lander's stomach tightened in alarm. 'Where are these oases?'

Bhadla pointed in the direction the Zhentarim had taken after destroying the camp last night.

Without speaking a word, Lander started toward the oasis pond, where the camels were tethered. Previously he had been puzzled by the Zhentarim's quick departure last night. Now he realized they were trying to reach the next tribe before it learned of the slaughter at this oasis.

When Bhadla and Musalim caught up to him, Lander glared at the guides. 'Why didn't you tell me about the other oases earlier?'

Bhadla shrugged. 'I would have, if you had told me we were being watched.'

Irritated by the D'tarig's reply, Lander quickened his pace. 'Don't fill more than three waterskins,' he snapped. 'We'll have to ride hard to beat the Zhentarim to the next oasis, and the extra weight will only slow us down.'

Musalim pointed at the haze on the southern horizon. 'But, Lord, we may need a lot of water. That storm could force us to stop for several days!'

'We're not going to stop because of a little rain.'

Bhadla snickered. 'Rain? In Anauroch?'

'That's a sandstorm!' added Musalim.

The trio reached the camels a moment later, and the beasts lowered their heads to the water for one last drink. Lander undid the tethers of his mount, then paused to look southward. The haze was creeping steadily forward, streaking the sapphire sky with gray, fingerlike tendrils.

'I don't care if it's a firestorm,' the Sembian said. 'It's not going to stop us.'

In the end, the D'tarig insisted upon filling six waterskins, but at Lander's direction, they agreed to push their camels along at a trot. The trio covered more than a dozen miles by early afternoon, and the sands paled to the