D & D - Red Sands

by Tonya R. Carter

  Miserable place for a fighting man, the Red Sands. Too hot for armor, too hot for hard riding. The desert had an insatiable appetite for horses, too. So many fine animals died of heat and thirst. Fu'ad would have given up at Julli and ridden home, but the Eye of the Sultan would transmit his lack of resolve to the sorcerers in the pay of Emir Azrel, back in Omerabad. Professional disgrace was not the only penalty Fu'ad could suffer.

  He scanned the far horizon. These wretched prisoners had cost him much sweat, much effort. They would pay for their troublesomeness. They would pay dearly.

  "Aiyah!" A shout from the right column. Fu'ad reined up.

  "Who goes there?" he shouted. The air scalded his tongue and throat.

  "Trooper Kedir, sir! I see men! On foot, sir!"

  Marad rode to his captain. "It might be a mirage. I've seen odd things myself in the heat of the day."

  "Kedir is a steady man," Fu'ad replied. "Let's see what the Red Sands have done to his eyes."

  Fu'ad ordered the troopers to halt while he and Marad cantered to Kedir's position. The trooper was staring into the glare of the late sun.

  "There they are, sir. I count eight in all."

  "Eight? Doesn't sound like our quarry," Marad said.

  Fu'ad looked and, sure enough, eight dark figures stumbled across the hard red soil toward them. The leading figure, spying the lancers sitting high on their horses, raised a cry.

  "Have the column deploy. I want to net i hese wanderers," said Fu'ad calmly.

  Marad put the signal trumpet to his lips and sounded two short blasts. The forty-two surviving Invincibles formed a circle and enveloped the men on foot. The strangers did not seem concerned; indeed, they rushed to meet the nearest horsemen.

  One dirty, bearded fellow limped up to Fu'ad where he and Marad had remained by Kedir. The newcomer and his companions wore metal gorgets around their throats and black-banded, nut-colored headdresses.

  "Hail, valiant soldiers!" he said in a hoarse voice. "The blessing of Mitaali upon you! We are saved!"

  "You are found, at any rate," said Fu'ad dryly. "Who are you?"

  "Zuram gan Dalifiya, most gratefully at your service, lord."

  "You are a nomad?"

  "Of the tribe Bershak, yes."

  "What are you doing in this part of the desert, on foot and in such ohvious distress? I thought you people could live indefinitely on the Red Sands."

  Zuram folded his hands and bowed. "The illustrious captain sees much. In truth, we were a party of eighteen out hunting when we were caught in a terrible sandstorm. Ten of my brothers and all of our mounts died, and we, we were at hope's end until you found us."

  "Hunting? What could you possibly be hunting in this wasteland?" asked Marad.

  "The wiliest game of all, lord—men."

  Fu'ad and Marad exchanged guarded looks. Fu'ad unhooked a waterskin from his saddle. It fell to the ground. He said, "There, sonofDalif, drink. Drink and tell us who you were hunting."

  The Bershak filled his cheeks to bursting and swallowed. "May you dwell forever in Paradise, noble captain! In eternal joy and—"

  "Yes, yes, get on with it."

  "As the captain desires. Some days ago, my brothers and I were in the oasis of Julli seeking employment with a caravan as guides. Many wanderers of the Red Sands were there, too: the Nuzi, the Draka, the Aqir—"

  "Stay to the point!"

  "Yes, sir. We could not find work, as so many were already there. So we lingered at the wells, hoping to hear some news to our advantage. We did. A youth from a distant land drank too much wine and told the Yali of the Aqir of a royal ornament they sought to recover."

  Fu'ad's heart beat faster. He clenched a mailed fist around his horse's reins and asked, "What sort of ornament did he speak of, and where could it be found?"

  "It was the seal of a prince from across the sea, as I recall." Zuram took another long swig of water. "It was buried by an outlander knight far in the west. The foreign boy and his companions intend to dig up this seal and take it to— What was the place? Some vulgar western name. Tuba? Tooga? A city called thus."

  "He said perhaps 'Tantuffa'."

  "That's it!" the nomad exclaimed.

  Fu'ad smiled and excused Zuram. He drew Marad •aside for a hasty conference. "Our luck has changed, my brother!" he said excitedly. "This dirty nomad has given me the means to a satrapy!"

  "How so?" asked Marad.

  "The one described must be Marix of Dosen. The seal can only belong to the Dosens' overlord, the prince of Lydon. Do you not see? We took (he nobleman from an armed party of westerners. Their leader, a knight, was killed, and the reason for their presence in Kaipur was never revealed. The sultan—may he live forever—did not want the young nobleman put to the lorture, lest his ransom value decline. His Magnificence believed that a few days in the dungeon would loosen his tongue. Before he weakened, however, he, ihe nomad woman, and the heretic priest escaped."

  "His Magnificence would truly reward you if you seized this prince's seal," Marad observed.

  "Exactly! I shall lay the trophy at the sultan's feet, and thereafter claim the bounty of his good will."

  "What of the Bershak?"

  Fu'ad snapped out the first few fingerwidths of his sword. "I have orders from the vizier that anyone assisting the fugitives is to die," he said.

  "They were not assisting; the Bershak were tracking the criminals, even as we were."

  The captain clasped Marad's forearm in the soldiers' brotherly grip. "If these nomads are not silenced, they will tell all and sundry at Julli of their predicament. Every cutthroat and freebooter in the wasteland will be after our quarry, and they will make our task immeasurably more difficult," said Fu'ad. He relaxed and sat back, smiling. "Besides, I pledged my life to their recapture, and I will not share the glory with anyone."

  "Not even your brothers-in-arms?" asked Marad quietly.

  A tense silence built between the two men. Finally Fu'ad turned his horse to the waiting Zuram. The Bershak gave the captain back his waterskin. Fu'ad thanked him, then said to Marad, "Sound the call."

  "What call, sir?"

  "You know the one. Do it."

  Marad hesitated only a second. He put the trumpet to his lips and blew three notes, paused, and blew them again.

  "What is that?" asked the puzzled Zuram.

  '"No quarter'," replied Fu'ad. And none was given.

  "You know, I think I'm beginning to bear the desert well," Marix said. They had left the ruined temple and were now heading due west. The peaks of the Shammat Mountains could be seen far away, dim blue shadows shimmering in the reflected heat.

  "You are nearly brown enough to be a nomad," Jadira replied, studying his tanned face, "but your hair and eyes are still too light."

  "And he walks too fast," said Nabul.

  "How would you know?" Uramettu chided. "You ride more than you walk." It was true. Nabul could usually be found on one donkey's back or another.

  "Nevermind," saidjadira. "We're all doing well. It's no wonder, though, what with an everlasting supply of food."

  "Ugh," said Nabul. "The same food, day after day. ..."

  "The grumbler is right," said Uramettu. "If I eat another olive, I'll sprout leaves!"

  "And if I eat any more honey, I'll grow bee's wings!" Marix added.

  "I warned you about gifts from an efreet," said Tamakh. "To them it is a great jest to rook a mortal."

  "Speaking of wings and gifts, why would you not let me ask Kaurous for a flying cart or chariot?" Jadira said.

  "Too much room for treachery," said the priest. He paused to flick a pebble from his sandal. "A magical conveyance might have flown us to Tantuffa in a few notches, only to dash us to death from a great height. you can't be too cautious with efreeti."

  Marix ran a finger down the unstrung bow they had gotten from Kaurous. "You don't suppose this thing kills the archer, do you?"

  "That's an idea. Kaurous did say it would never miss and always slay. ..."


  "Filth!" Marix had insisted on being group bowman. Now he wasn't so blindly enthusiastic. "Uramettu, you have long arms; you would draw the bow so much deeper than I. Would you like to have it?"

  She laughed, a warm, throaty chuckle that made Jadira smile. "Ah, my friend, you flatter me! My weapon lies in here"—she pressed a hand to her chest—"and I need no other."

  "Nabul?"

  "Not me. I don't want to wind up with my own arrow in my back." Marix sighed. The others laughed good-naturedly at him.

  The day ended, and the moon rose full and golden. By this time, the land was dotted with gnarled pirca trees and fluffy dry samsat grass. Uramettu and Tamakh each gathered an armload of kindling and laid a fire. Tamakh called upon Agma. His spark caught so quickly a wild puff of flame gushed from the tinder pile and singed the tip of his nose. Nabul hurt himself laughing while Jadira dabbed olive oil on the priest's blistered nose.

  "Don't be so ardent next time!" Nabul said through his tears. "I though you were going to kiss the flames!"

  When it was fully dark, Uramettu got up from the circle and went silently out into the darkness. Marix started to call to her, but Tamakh stopped him.

  "She's feeling the call to hunt," he explained. "It's harder on her than the rest of us to eat bread and fruit all the time."

  "What can she hope to find out there?" said Marix.

  "There is game in the high desert," said Jadira. "Hares, snakes, hopper-mice, sandspikers."

  "Sandspikers?"

  "A small, flightless bird," Tamakh put in.

  "Rabbit would be good just now," said Nabul wistful-

  "In her present form I don't think she'd be inclined to share," observed Tamakh.

  The priest and the thief fell asleep before the moon set. Marix and Jadira sat close together and watched the moon creep ever so slowly to its rest.

  "Waning from full," said Marix. "Our time is half gone."

  "We are more than halfway to the coast. We will make it," she said.

  "I was thinking about that. Finding the seal—and what comes after."

  "What does?"

  He shifted. "My life will resume in Lord Hurgold's army. Tamakh will serve his god. Uramettu will seek passage to Fedush, and Nabul—well, there's always work for a thief. But what will you do, Jadira?"

  "I hadn't really considered. As a tribeless woman, I have no standing with other nomads. Yali Mit'ai esteems me, but he could not adopt me without provoking dissension in the tribe. There remains a hard course ..." Marix prompted her. "I could make myself a bonded wife to a clan leader."

  ""iou do not sound enthusiastic."

  She said, "I am not. 1 would becomc the slave of my husband."

  "I see you as many things, but never a slave."

  "Yet I must have a place, a livelihood Never will I sell myself in the streets of a city. I would shave my head and hide among the Promised ofjihai first."

  He took her hand. "Could you bear to stay in Iantuf-fa?" said Marix.

  "With you?"

  "With me."

  "You think unbalanced things, my friend." He leaned closer, but Jadira eased away. "I sense your feeling for me is due to our situation and not to true bonding of the heart. As the wise chief said, 'Even vinegar is good wine on the Red Sands'."

  "bu doubt me? I admire you greatly. You are a strong woman, far stronger than the airy girls of my homeland—"

  "Stop. Say nothing more, please. Think, dear Marix; think and think again. I am widow, nomad, a tribeless woman. You are the son of a western lord. Our worlds were never meant to follow in the same track. The gods have thrown us together for a purpose only they know. When all is resolved and the world is balanced once more, you will see the gulf between us is wider than all the desert."

  Marix slowly released his hold on her hand. "I wish I thought you would be wrong," he said.

  Her throat felt tight. "So do I."

  The Reflection

  The land changed. Contours returned; hills and hollows appeared in the flat desert. The limits of the companions' vision became the rising gray-blue curtain of the Shammat Mountains, and with each passing notch the mountains reared higher.

  Dew drenched them at night. Green plants were common, and crossing a gully Uramettu often flushed coveys of doves or a wild pig. Marix ached to shoot some game, but he was still afraid of the efreet bow. Uramettu eyed the fleeing animals but kept her human form. Her expedition some nights before had been largely fruitless—a few stringy rodents.

  They camped in a green hollow fringed by tall cedars. Marix was in raptures over seeing real trees again. He cut an armful of boughs and brought them back to camp.

  "What are you going to do with those?" said Nabul.

  "Sleep on them. The smell is wonderful!" The city-born thief scratched his head at the strange ways of foreigners.

  Marix offered some boughs to jadira. She smiled in a

  distant way and let him arrange them in a rough rectangle on the ground. Tamakh approached with the provision bag. "Anyone hungry?" he said.

  "Not for bread, dates, olives, and honey," said Nabul.

  "What else is there?"

  "Meat. Fresh rabbit, or pigeon pie."

  "And where, pray, can you get those delicacies?" asked Tamakh.

  "She can get them," replied the thief, pointing to Uramettu.

  All eyes focuscd on her. "Could you?" saidjadira.

  "It is not usual for me to take more than I can eat alone," she said, "and it is often difficult to make two kills."

  "So the question remains: could you hunt for us?" said Marix. "Would you bring us back fresh meat?"

  "What does my sister say?"

  "Any change from our forced diet would be a delight," saidjadira.

  "It seems we have a culinary emergency," said Uramettu. She stretched her sleek arms and yawned. "If you will excuse me ..."

  She loped off up the hill and disappeared among the trees. Nabul rubbed his hands together and said, "All we need now is a stew pot."

  "Don't you ever think of anything but your stomach?" said Marix scornfully.

  "Sometimes he thinks of money," Jadira offered. Nabul stuck his prominent nose in the air and assumed an air of dignified disdain. Once he was behind Marix, he snatched off the nobleman's Faziri helmet.

  "This will make an excellent pot," he declared. Jadira laughed.

  "No!" exclaimed Marix. "That's my helmet!"

  "Not anymore!" Marix tried to grab the iron pot back, but the nimbie thief skipped out of reach. As he started to rise to his feet, Jadira put out a hand and stopped Marix.

  "Be at ease," she said. "We will clean the helmet after we use it."

  His angry expression faded at her touch. "Oh, ail right. But I get first serving!"

  "Agreed." She cast about for the water skins. "I'd better find some water, or we'll be eating dry soup for dinner."

  Jadira found two of the bags. Tamakh was using the third for a pillow. He lay on a short camel-hair blanket under a flowering ran/5 bush. A limp green leaf shaded his eyes. Jadira regarded Tamakh fondly. She couldn't disturb so restful a sleep. Two skinsful of water would do for now.

  She followed the slope of the hill upward, her sandals slipping in the loose mix of broken stone and dirt. from there, Jadira could see the double line of Uramettu's tracks converging with her own.

  The fragrant cedars loomed ahead, dark and sighing softly in tbe breeze. They grew so closely Jadira had to squeeze between them. Sticky aromatic resin got on her hands and stuck to her clothing. Beside her, the bare footprints changed to four-clawed spoors.

  Beyond the trees was the pinnacle of this range of hills. From there Jadira could see in all directions. She knew there would be water in one of the draws, probably the one with the most foliage. To the southwest she spied a vale where the trees were taller and thicker than anywhere else. That should be it.

  It was past midday, and the shadows were growing longer as she walked. The hills were silent, save for the infre
quent call of a mourning dove. So much of the tension of the past days had dropped away when they reached the fresh air of the mountains. Jadira could almost hear the swelling sea, could nearly see the walls and towers of far Tantuffa.

  They had come through much, this motley band; Tamakh was hale, Nabul's outlook improved daily, and Marix . . . Marix. What about him? He was a brave fellow, resolute and strong. How could she tell him how she felt? Could she allow herself to love one who was not of the Red Sands?

  There was water in the draw all right. Jadira could smell it as she rounded the falling buttress of rock. Hear it, too; the flowing stream rang in the stillness like hidden temple chimes. The very air of the glen seemed cleaner. It was almost crystalline in its clarity.

  The stream bubbled out of a layer of pink-veined granite. It cascaded down to a wide, shallow pool bordered with ferns and moss-painted stones. The banks on each side were covered with hundreds of tiny flowers, each consisting of four fat, snowy petals surrounding a golden head. Jadira sank into the deep bed of flowers. Nowhere, not even the vale of A1 Mirah, could compare to the simple, affecting beauty of this spot.

  She leaned over the water. Her thin face, tanned by the sun and tautened by the wind, smiled back at her. Jadira let clown her headdress and opened the neck of her robe. She dipped a hand into the pool. The water was cold. She put her head back and let droplets run through her hair. Closing her eyes, she poured another handful into the hollow of her neck.

  yes. Beautiful.

  The words came unbidden to her mind. Jadira opened her eyes. No one was near.

  "Uramettu? Is that you?" Her voice sounded flat in the perfect air. Unnerved, Jadira dropped the first waterskin in the pool and forced the neck under. Bubbles gushed out.

  Beautiful one. Speak to me.

  "Who—who is it?"

  Look into the pool.

  Jadira bent over. Her reflection was there. Her lips said, Look, beautiful one.

  Jadira had not spoken.

  Stay here. Rest. I, your reflection, will go in your place.