Desert Wind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Where was she? He wondered as he lay on his back, staring up into the darkness, striving to ignore the bites and the itches plaguing his body. Was she well? Was she mourning him? Or was she glad to be rid of the infidel who had taken her maidenhead and vanished? Had he left her with a child from that one glorious night together?

  “Stop it!” he said aloud, his voice rusty but strong.

  Such thoughts were dangerous and they hurt him far too much.

  He got to his feet and began pacing around and around the ten foot square cell. Along with twice daily pushups and sit-ups, it was the only exercise he got. He refused to allow his body to wither, his limbs to weaken. He had lost weight already for there was little to no actual nourishment in the slop they fed him, but he refused to allow himself to become an invalid.

  “You are going to wear a hole in the stone, Ramseur,” one of the guards said. He was the one Ardalan called the spook for the man moved so quietly no one ever heard him until he showed up at the cell bars.

  “What else is there for me to do?” Ardalan quipped.

  The spook leaned against the bars with his arms crossed. “That madwoman is in the ward room again demanding to be allowed to see you. The commandant has told her he will be restricting her visits from now on.”

  “That’s good,” Ardalan said, continuing to circuit the cell.

  “She’ll be allowed only one visit per week.”

  “I guess I should be grateful for small favors.”

  “The restriction had nothing to do with you,” the spook said. “The crazed one’s sister-in-law came to complain to the commandant. She is tired of having her dead husband’s insane relative sleeping under her roof. The woman will need to go back up the mountain and stay where she belongs.”

  Ardalan nodded. He was mentally counting the steps it took for him to make a complete circuit of the cell.

  “Tell me something, Devrim,” the spook drawled.

  “If I were Devrim, I just might,” Ardalan said, slowing down, winded by his vigorous walk.

  “Funny,” the spook said with a snort. “Where were you those years you were missing? Were you really in a Diabolusian prison?”

  Dropping down to the cell floor, Ardalan ran the sleeve of his filthy prison garb over his sweaty face. “Devrim Ramseur is most likely dead.”

  “I’m looking at Devrim Ramseur,” the spook stated then pushed away from the cell. He dissolved back down the corridor as silently as he’d come.

  “You’re the lucky one, Devrim,” Ardalan said.

  Realizing he was talking aloud, the prince clamped his mouth shut and leaned up against the wall, bringing his knees up into the circumference of his arms.

  It was going to be another long, long day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Halim leaned over the ship’s rail to watch the dolphins racing along the larboard side. He enjoyed watching their comical antics and hearing their squeaks and whistles as they arched out of the water. It was nearly sunset and already a huge golden moon was riding the sky. The captain had informed him they would reach the Ojani coast in less than an hour.

  “Will you go looking for the woman tonight?” Captain Aposolides asked.

  “Morning will be time enough,” Halim granted.

  “They’ll send someone from the fort to ask our business,” the captain said. “Even though we fly Oceanian colors, these people are all too acquainted with pirates. They’ll want to know we are who we say we are.”

  “Understood,” Halim said. “I should speak with whoever comes aboard. Perhaps I’ll be able to get a head start on knowing where to find my man’s wife.”

  “I’ll send the harbormaster to see you as soon as he comes aboard.”

  Under the streaming auric glow of a ripe full moon, the Sea Stallion docked at the crescent-shaped bay of Ojani. Lines were made fast, the gangplank was dropped and a boarding party led by an officious-looking man came on deck.

  “I am Masood Rafik-Kahn,” the man greeted Captain Aposolides. “May I have your papers, Sir?”

  The Oceanian captain provided his ship’s papers and Rafik-Kahn bowed respectfully. After he had perused them beneath a torch one of his men held above the harbormaster’s head, he nodded then handed the papers back. “Might I inquire why you are visiting our port, Captain?”

  “I have a gentleman with me who is a captain in the Asaraban Royal Guard,” Captain Aposolides replied. “He is here to conduct business in his official capacity.”

  Rafik-Khan arched a busy black brow. “Of whom do you speak, Captain?”

  “Captain Halim Evren,” the man in question introduced himself as he walked from the shadows. “I am Prince Ardalan’s senior officer.”

  “Oh my,” Rafik-Khan said. He wrung his hands, clearly in distress. “The commandant will no doubt wish to speak with you even at this hour.”

  Halim waved a dismissive hand. “I am too tired and too sleepy to deal with the commandant tonight. First thing in the morning after I’m broken my fast will be time enough.”

  Rafik-Kahn bowed deeply. “I shall relay the message to Commandant Zaganos immediately, Captain Evren.”

  Captain Aposolides grinned as the little man and his two-man entourage hurried down the gangplank. “Did you see the look on his face when you told him you were the prince’s man?”

  Halim yawned. “His name still carries a great deal of weight,” the captain remarked. He clapped Aposolides on the back. “I’m for my bed, George. Have a good night.”

  “Good night, Halim,” the captain replied.

  * * * * *

  Rafik-Kahn outdistanced his men as he made straight for the fortress. At that time of evening, lights were being extinguished all over the village but the dual line of towering torches that lit the way to the massive stone building named the Adadish many centuries before were sputtering in the still air. Two guards flanked the massive nail-studded door and came to attention as the harbormaster came rushing toward them. “I must speak with the commandant immediately!” Rafik-Kahn stated.

  “Do you know what time it is Masood?” the harbormaster’s first cousin snapped. “He will not like being disturbed.”

  “You saw the ship that docked here tonight?” Rafik-Khan questioned. “Onboard is the senior officer of Prince Ardalan Jaleem. Captain Halim Evren, no less!”

  The guard’s mouth dropped open. “Why is he here?” he whispered.

  “One can only guess,” the harbormaster replied. “Obviously Ramseur tried impersonating the prince elsewhere as he did here to keep from being arrested. Alel only knows what the fool has done! The captain is here to apprehend him, I’ve no doubt!”

  “He’ll get more than a score of lashes if that’s the case,” the other guard remarked. “He’s liable to lose his pretty head over such a thing.”

  “How beneath Alel’s blue sky could Devrim think to pawn himself off as the crown prince?” Rafik-Khan’s cousin queried. “The man is an ass of the highest order.”

  “And looks nothing like the prince, I’m sure,” the other guard said.

  “Well, nevertheless, I need to speak with the commandant. He needs to make sure Captain Evren does not charge us with anything while he’s here.”

  “What could he charge us with?” his cousin asked.

  “Aiding and abetting a criminal being sought by the Asaraban government!” the harbormaster declared. “Now, let me in. It is imperative the commandant and I converse.”

  * * * * *

  Commandant Zaganos was not a happy man as he listened to Rafik-Khan’s summation of the situation. It was bad enough his evening had been interrupted but he had been taken from the lusty arms of his latest mistress to boot. His irritation showed on the stone-hard planes of his face.

  “That damned Ramseur!” the commandant snarled. “I knew I should have hanged him and been done with it. I am tempted to have them bring him to me for another score of lashes for the trouble he has brought to our doorstep!”

  “I can not say
I blame you, Commandant,” Raif-Kahn commiserated with Zaganos. “He and that moon-addled wife of his have been nothing but trouble to our people.”

  “What do you know of this Captain Evren?”

  Rafik-Kahn was standing at the commandant’s desk, working his prayer beads. “I have heard he is a brutal man and that he is savage in battle. He is a harsh taskmaster to his troops and does not countenance laziness or lying from his men. He is much feared among the Asaraban military.”

  “He will no doubt give Ramseur the punishment he deserves, then.”

  “That would be my assessment,” the harbormaster agreed.

  “Aye, well, leave now and return on the morrow when you see the good captain heading my way. We will show him a combined front as the wronged parties here. Let us hope he doesn’t blame us for our carelessness.” He squinted at the harbormaster. “You for allowing that trash to wash up on our shores without being apprehended right off and me for allowing him to roam free on our shores for as long as he was.”

  Rafik-Khan bobbed his head and turned to go. He stopped and looked around. “You will take care of the matter?”

  “Aye,” the commandant replied with a steely gaze. “You may count on it!”

  * * * * *

  Ardalan had not been asleep long when he heard the stamping of feet coming down the corridor. He sat up groggily, throwing an arm over his eyes as bright torchlight invaded his dark cell and the door was thrown open.

  “Get to your feet, Ramseur!” a guard ordered. “Now!”

  He didn’t move fast enough and rough hands squeezed painfully around his upper arms and he was jerked to his feet, a heavy fist planted in his unprotected belly for good measure.

  Gagging from the unexpected blow, bending double over the pain of it, Ardalan was dragged out of the cell, stumbling along between two burly guards.

  They took him to the same place where they’d strung him up before and as soon as he realized they were going to do it again, he tried to pull out of their clutches, but another vicious blow to his lower belly knocked the wind and the fight out of him. His arms were jerked up, his wrists slapped into manacles that dug into his flesh. With chest heaving, mouth gasping for air, he was hauled upward until his bare toes no longer touched the cold, slimy stone floor.

  “Secure him!” he heard the commandant order, and tried to speak, but never got the chance as someone thrust a gag between his lips, tying it tightly at the base of his neck. A wide leather belt was looped around his waist and he was pulled up snugly to the whipping post, the belt buckled securely around the pole.

  The commandant came up behind him and grabbed a handful of Ardalan’s hair and jerked his head back, putting great strain on the young man’s neck muscles.

  “Cause me trouble with the Asaraban government will you?” Commandant Zaganos demanded. “Well, we’ll teach you a thing or two before we’re done!”

  Ardalan grunted as the commandant shoved his head into the wide wooden pole. He knew they were going to flog him and he turned his face so he could press his forehead to the wood, hoping the lash would not snag across his head.

  The first lash caught him right in the middle of his back and he could not keep from flinching. He had doubled his fists around the chains that secured his manacles, holding onto them, his body hanging just above the floor. The next lash was low—curling around his waist just above the leather belt and opening a gash in his flesh. The third dug in from right shoulder to left hip and he grunted with the force of it. By the sixth blow, he was grunting with each vicious blow, being applied by a whip master who knew his profession.

  Lash after lash—he lost count after the first brutal ten—crashed into his body and propelled him into the post over and over again. His forehead was dripping blood for each pass slammed his face against the wood. Blood ran down his legs and arms. One particularly cruel lash had landed on his ass and he felt the tender flesh there break open.

  “How many was that?” the commandant asked.

  “Thirty,” someone answered.

  “Give him thirty more.”

  Ardalan could not stop the whimper that pushed from his throat for he knew he’d never be able to survive thirty more such hits. His back was on fire, his arms and legs trembling violently.

  “Thirty might kill him, Commandant,” the whip master said in a bored voice.

  “Oh all right,” the commandant growled. “Make it ten.”

  “Even that might be going too far, Sir. He is at his breaking point.”

  He heard them arguing, but nothing beyond the ungodly pain searing his body was registering with him. When after what seemed an eternity they unhooked his wrists, he screamed into the gag, unable to keep from doing so for someone had rubbed against his tortured back. But the scream brought a relief of sorts as unconsciousness reached up to grab him. As he pitched down through the ebon layers of forgetfulness, all he could ask was why had they beaten him again?

  Chapter Nineteen

  The morning meal was Halim’s favorite and he gorged himself with the cook’s mouthwatering fare and washed it down with strong, black coffee. His belly nigh to bursting, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his gut. “Now that was a meal, my friend,” he complimented the captain.

  “I’ve gained twenty pounds since Telly signed on,” Captain Aposolides informed him. “Did you sleep well last night?”

  Halim frowned. “Actually, no, I didn’t.” He ran both hands through his thick crop of hair and scratched his scalp. “I tossed and turned, uncomfortable for some reason.”

  “Perhaps you were subconsciously thinking of having to deal with the woman today.”

  “Aye, I imagine so,” Halim agreed. “Still…” He could not explain why he felt so uneasy. What little bit of sleep he’d gotten had been filled with nightmarish images of shed blood and torn flesh. He was not accustomed to having his sleep interrupted and he couldn’t remember when he’d last had a bad dream.

  “Still?”

  Halim looked at his companion then shrugged. “I’m getting old, George. I’ve seen too much, done too much, worried too much. All those things are starting to come back to me.”

  “Would you like another cup of coffee?” the Oceanian captain offered.

  “No,” Halim said on a long sigh. “I want to get this over and done with and get back to Oceania.” He put the front legs of his chair down and scraped it back on the floor, getting up to stretch. “What I’d really like is a long nap after all that delicious grub.”

  Captain Aposolides laughed. “Aye, you’re getting old. I recognize the signs.”

  Aposolides walked with Halim to the gangplank and asked if Halim would like company on his errand. Having given his trust to the Oceanian, Halim nodded, relieved he wouldn’t have to meet with the crazed woman alone.

  “Why not just seek her out instead of going to see the commandant?” Captain Aposolides asked.

  Halim patted the wide leather pouch at his waist. “There are divorce papers in here and since Commandant Zaganos is the law in Ojani, he’ll have to be the one to put his stamp on the decree. I want to get that official seal on the papers before I give them to Exento…ah, Devrim’s woman.”

  “Ah,” the Oceanian drawled. “That makes sense.”

  The guards at the end of the long boarded walkway that led up to the entrance of the fortress snapped to attention as soon as Halim and Captain Aposolides came into view. The men were wearing ceremonial dress in honor of the occasion and Halim was amused by it.

  “You’d think I was here with a royal order, wouldn’t you?” he said, leaning over to whisper to Aposolides.

  The harbormaster came bustling up just as Halim and the Oceanian were taken through the thick wooden portal that secured the interior of the fortress. He bowed to Halim and nodded in passing to the captain of the Sea Stallion as the two men halted in the visitor’s room.

  “You are here regarding Devrim Ramseur, aren’t you?” Rafik-Khan inquired.

  Halim’s
brows drew together. “How do you know that?”

  “If I can be of any help to you, please just ask,” the harbormaster said in a low voice. “I had nothing to do with what happened to Devrim Ramseur.”

  “Can you bring me Alara Ramseur?” Halim asked. He was staring at the harbormaster, wondering if the commandant had had a hand in Devrim being on the patrol that had allowed him to be captured by the Diabolusians.

  Rafik-Khan winced. “She lives up the mountain, Captain, at one of the Wadis. It would take me many hours to go and bring her down.”

  “If you would do so, you would have my gratitude, sir,” Halim said, digging his fingernails into his palms to keep from slapping the man. “I would not hold you responsible for anything that might have happened to her man.”

  The harbormaster nodded eagerly. “Then I will set out right away!” He bowed and hurried off, his robes flapping in his wake.

  “That’s a weasel if ever I smelt one,” the Oceanian commented in a low voice.

  “T’was a ripe stench, wasn’t it?” Halim agreed.

  “He certainly was quick to point out he had nothing to do with the Ojani’s capture. Why do you think that was?”

  “Guilty conscience is my guess,” Halim said. “He knows what happened to our man. There is more to this than meets the eye, George.”

  “Someone wanted Ramseur’s wife?”

  Halim grunted. “Not if what our man says of her is true.” He looked across the room to where the sergeant-at-arms was waiting for them. “Let’s see what this one says about her.”

  The sergeant-at-arms came to attention, his fist doubled at his heart in salute. “The commandant is eagerly awaiting your arrival, Captain Evren!” he said.

  “I’ve a question for you as a military man who I’m sure knows everything that goes on here,” Halim said.