The Parched sea h-1

by Troy Denning

  "When we returned to Archenbridge, my father hired someone to follow my mother while he was out of town. The man was able to stalk her to a secret meeting of Cyric's evil sect and to see her meeting with a known Zhentarim agent."

  "What a shock for your father," Ruha said, absent-mindedly holding her bloody jambiya in her hand. "What did he do? Kill her?"

  Lander grimaced. "In Sembia, men don't do that sort of thing to their wives," he said. "My father set out for Archendale to warn the farmers about the Zhentarim plot. He sent me to another city with a message for a trusted friend.

  "My mother saw me leaving town and came after me with two men. When she caught me, she tried to convince me to join the Zhentarim, but I couldn't help remembering all the wonderful times my father and I had shared in Archendale. I told her to let me go and, when her guards tried to take me prisoner, I killed them."

  "And your mother?"

  Lander shook his head. "I made the worst mistake of my life," he said. "I let her go."

  Ruha gave him a exonerating nod. "A man shouldn't-"

  "My mother went straight to her Zhentarim masters," the Harper interrupted, an intentionally sharp tone in his voice. "They sent their agents into Archendale."

  "What happened?" the widow asked, her concerned eyes showing that she had already guessed the answer.

  "I don't really know," Lander replied, looking at the ground. "I passed my father's message to his friend, then waited for him as he had made me promise. I didn't hear anything until nearly a fortnight later, when a Harper came and told me that both my parents had died in Archendale."

  Ruha's voice dropped to a shocked whisper. "How did it happen?"

  Lander shook his head. "A Zhentarim assassin caught my father shortly after he entered the valley. The Harper wouldn't tell me how my mother died."

  They sat in uneasy silence, both of them staring at the pebbled ground. After a time, Ruha cleaned her jambiya on a piece of cloth and sheathed it. She took some dried camel dung out of a kuerabiche, then reached into her aba and withdrew a flint and steel. She handed the dried dung and the flint and steel to Lander. "Will you please light a fire?"

  Without speaking, the Harper pulled some shreds off the hem of his tattered aba to use for tinder.

  Ruha withdrew a pot from another kuerabiche and half-filled it with water. "I see mirages from the future," she said, avoiding the Harper's eyes. "When I was a little girl, I was not wise enough to hide this."

  Lander piled the tinder on a dung-patty. "So? Seeing the future is a gift."

  "Not among the Bedine," Ruha replied. "I was shunned."

  "As a child?" Lander exclaimed.

  The widow nodded. "It was my father's decision, but he had no choice, of course. The elders demanded it."

  "The elders were fools!"

  When Ruha did not meet his gaze, Lander leaned over the dung patties and began striking sparks. The third one caught, and he gently blew on it until it produced a small flame in the tinder.

  "Who are fools?" asked a youth's familiar voice.

  Lander looked up and saw that Kadumi had returned from his duty as a scout. The boy was standing at the edge of their campsite, his bow and quiver in one hand and the reins of his camel in the other.

  "Er-nobody," Lander said.

  The color rose to the visible part of Ruha's cheeks, and Lander looked uncomfortably back to the flame.

  Kadumi scowled, then turned to unsaddle his camel. After a moment of tense silence, he asked again, "Who are fools?"

  "Nobody," Lander replied, looking up from his fire. "Ruha and I were just talking about the differences in our cultures."

  Though he wasn't sure why he should be embarrassed, Lander could sense from the attitudes of both Kadumi and Ruha that he and the young widow had violated an unspoken rule.

  The Harper's explanation did not satisfy the youth. Tossing his bow and quiver aside, Kadumi advanced angrily. "Ruha is my brother's wife," he said. "You may not have secrets with her!"

  Lander stood. "We don't have any secrets-"

  Kadumi reached for his jambiya.

  "Kadumi, no!" Ruha cried.

  The Harper was so shocked by the action that the boy actually had the blade halfway out of the scabbard before Lander caught his arm. Grasping Kadumi's wrist tightly, he helped him pull the dagger the rest of the way out of the sheath, then quickly used his free hand to press inward against the joint. Kadumi cried out in pain and dropped the dagger.

  "Don't draw a weapon on a man you can't kill," Lander said. His heart was pounding hard, but he kept his voice even.

  Kadumi's response was direct and heated. "Blood!" he yelled.

  The word resounded across the rocky plain, bringing the camp to sudden silence.

  Ruha shook her head violently. "Kadumi, don't do this."

  Lander released the youth and pushed him away. Before the Harper could kick the boy's jambiya back to him, Sa'ar and several warriors arrived.

  "What's happening here?" the sheikh demanded.

  Kadumi pointed at Lander. "He's courting Ruha," the boy accused. "I have challenged him."

  Sa'ar looked from the boy to Lander, then back to the boy again. "You're sure?" he asked. "We could have misunderstood you."

  "You did not misunderstand," Kadumi snapped. "It is my family's honor."

  The sheikh sighed, then gave Ruha an accusatory glance. "We had better do this according to tradition," he said. "Give the boy his jambiya, Lander."

  The Harper did not move to obey. "Why?"

  Sa'ar frowned. "He challenged you," the sheikh responded. "Kill him, and Ruha is yours."

  The Harper looked from the sheikh to Kadumi. The boy was trembling, though Lander could not be sure whether it was with fear or anger. Regardless, he was standing tall and staring at Lander with an unwavering gaze.

  "He's just a boy!" Lander objected.

  "He's a Bedine warrior," Sa'ar corrected. "Don't worry. We'll witness the fight. Nobody will doubt your honor if you win."

  Lander snorted his disbelief, then shook his head. "I won't do it. I refuse the challenge."

  The warriors gasped, and Sa'ar looked confused. "What?"

  "Kadumi can try to kill me if he wishes," Lander explained. "But I won't kill him. I refuse his challenge."

  "You can't do that!" the youth yelled.

  "I can, and I have," Lander replied calmly.

  The Bedine stood, looking confused. Several moments later, Ruha burst out laughing. "Kadumi, if you must, try to kill him. I doubt that any harm will come of it."

  The warriors could not restrain a few chuckles, but Sa'ar did not seem amused. He pondered the situation for what seemed like an hour, then turned to Lander and pronounced his judgment.

  "Very well. Since you are not a Bedine, it is your privilege to refuse Kadumi's challenge," he said. "But being a berrani does not entitle you to ignore all of our traditions. Ruha is still the widow of Kadumi's brother, and it is a matter of family honor that he defend her reputation, whether she wishes it or not."

  The sheikh glanced at the Harper meaningfully, then continued, "Therefore, you will not speak to Ruha except in Kadumi's presence. In return, he will not challenge-or attack-you again. This is my decision, and be it known that any who ignore it violate my hospitality."

  Ten

  Ruha's camel had begun to limp, but the widow did not bother to dismount. After four days of travel on At'ar's Looking Glass, half the Mahwa were riding lame beasts. With the merciless goddess blazing down on the wind-burnished stones, the searing heat blistered even the tough pads of the camels' feet.

  In order to reach his allies as quickly as possible, Sa'ar was pushing his tribe through the worst part of the day. Heat rose off the desert floor in rippling waves that gave the Looking Glass the appearance of a huge lake of molten rock. On the horizon, a line of tiny spires danced in the shimmering air. Though still so distant they looked like billows of violet smoke rather than minarets of desert rock, the obelisks were a welcome
sight to Ruha's aching eyes. The stony towers marked the edge of At'ar's Looking Glass, and not far beyond lay the Mahwa's destination.

  Upon sighting the spires, Sheikh Sa'ar had declared that the Mahwa would not sleep until they reached the Well of the Chasm. The declaration had delighted Lander, who was eager to reach the next tribe before the Zhentarim enslaved or destroyed it. Despite her weariness, Ruha shared the Harper's impatience, though for a different reason. The sooner he became convinced that the Bedine were responding to the Zhentarim threat, the sooner he would return to Sembia-taking her with him, of course.

  The widow closed her eyes, hoping she could adjust to the new hitch in her camel's rolling gait. She tried to imagine the green valley of Archendale, where cold water filled the canyon and Mielikki's forest was so thick that At'ar could not penetrate its canopy. Try as she might, Ruha could not picture such a scene. She would simply have to go and see it with her own eyes.

  "Don't fall asleep," warned a familiar voice. "It's a long way down and the landing is hard."

  Ruha opened her eyes and saw that Lander had moved his camel closer to hers. She reacted by nudging her own mount away. "You mustn't!" she whispered, shaking her head. "If Kadumi sees us speaking, it may be his dagger that cuts you open."

  "Surely he wouldn't violate the sheikh's orders," Lander returned. "You did say that he was an honorable boy."

  "It is because he is an honorable boy that he would violate the sheikh's word," Ruha countered. "He would do anything to avenge a wrong against his dead brother."

  The Harper seemed unimpressed. "Kadumi's blade is not one that I'm afraid of."

  "Then you are a fool!" Ruha countered.

  "Perhaps," Lander replied, shrugging. "But the sheikh's prohibition is against speaking to you without your brother-in-law present." He nodded toward the rear. "Kadumi's less than thirty yards away."

  The widow did not need to look to know Lander spoke the truth. After Sa'ar's judgment, the jealous youth had even relinquished his scouting duties to watch her. He had barely let her out of his sight since.

  Disregarding the Harper's reassurances, Ruha again steered her mount away. "He's supposed to hear what we say."

  "What we say to each other is none of his business," Lander replied, not urging his camel any closer to Ruha's.

  "That is not the Bedine way. What passes between us is very much his business." The widow's protests were due more to the desire to avoid trouble between Lander and Kadumi than to any respect for her people's tradition.

  The Harper scoffed. "You aren't his property."

  "Kadumi must protect his brother's marriage. It's a matter of family honor."

  "His brother is dead!" Lander objected. Again, he guided his camel closer to Ruha's.

  "For less than a month!" the widow answered, giving up and not bothering to move away. "I must mourn Ajaman for two years."

  "And then what?" Lander asked, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder.

  "It doesn't matter," she whispered, daring to give the Harper a wry glance. "In two years, I will be in Sembia, will I not?"

  Her response drew an uncertain nod from Lander. "Perhaps, if that is what you want."

  "Of course it's what I want!" Ruha hissed. "There's nothing for me with the Bedine."

  "I truly hope you're right, Ruha, but how do you know there's anything for you in Sembia?" Lander asked. "You cannot imagine how different it is from Anauroch. For instance, women wear no veils, not even in public."

  The Harper's revelation caught the widow by surprise. She started to claim she would do the same, then felt herself blushing and could not utter the words. "Their husbands permit this?" she asked, looking away.

  Before Lander could respond, Kadumi's white camel edged between Ruha and the Harper. "You may not speak to this woman, berrani." He stared at Lander with a belligerent scowl, his hand brushing the hilt of his jambiya.

  Lander eyed the gesture with a forbearing sneer, then laughed at the boy's bravado. "As I recall, Kadumi, Sheikh Sa'ar said that I cannot speak to her except when you are with us. Well, you are with us now, so I speak to her." The Harper turned to Ruha. "Shall I tell you more about Sembia?"

  Though she would have liked to hear more, the widow shook her head. Ruha did not want Kadumi to know of her interest in the distant land, for she suspected his reaction would be violent if he knew she intended to leave him with the Mahwa and go with Lander. "I have heard enough of Sembia," she lied.

  The Harper gave her an amused smirk. "Then I won't trouble you with more descriptions of it." He lashed his mount with the tail of his reins and trotted a dozen yards ahead.

  "I wish to know what passed between you and the berrani," Kadumi demanded, looking from Lander's back to the widow's eyes.

  Ruha felt herself growing increasingly angry at the boy's protective suspicion and the coldness with which he had treated her since learning that she could use magic. She turned to Kadumi with a condescending glower. "I want you to remember two things," she hissed. "First, if that berrani, as you call him, did not have the patience of a sheikh, he would have killed you with your own jambiya twice by now. If I were you, I would stop acting the fool and keep my hand away from it, lest he grow tired of hearing hollow threats."

  Kadumi bristled at her rough treatment. "I am a Bedine warrior," he snapped. "I have killed three men!"

  The youth's comment summoned the memory of the assault on Lander's back in her vision. She wondered if the attacker was destined to be her own brother-in-law. Immediately she twisted in her saddle to face Kadumi.

  "You shall not kill that man!" she snarled.

  The intensity of her reaction took Kadumi entirely by surprise. Once again, he seemed more like a confused boy than the hot-headed young man he had been playing lately.

  A moment later, Kadumi collected his wits. "Lander is protected by the sheikh's difa," he said, neatly dodging the issue. "What is the second thing you want me to remember?"

  "When you want something from me, you are to ask, not demand," she lectured sharply. "Before you have the right to demand anything of me, you must earn my respect."

  Kadumi's bluster evaporated like a morning mist. His furrowed brow rose into an astonished arch, his set jaw fell slack, and his fiery eyes suddenly seemed very hurt and young. Ruha was about to balance her harsh words with some compassion when Kadumi spoke, his voice rather timid and meek.

  "Very well," he said, "would you please tell me what passed between you and Lander? You and I are supposed to be family, so I have the right to know."

  Beneath her veil, Ruha could not help but smile at the way Kadumi had phrased his request. It seemed to her the boy had actually taken her words to heart, but she did not intend to tell him of her plan to leave the Bedine. Even if he sympathized with her, he might still feel honor-bound to prevent her departure.

  Instead, she said, "I only knew Ajaman for three days before the Zhentarim came."

  Kadumi nodded. "Not much time for a marriage."

  Ruha took a deep breath. "Your brother was a wonderful man. If there had been more time for him and I, we might have grown to love each other."

  "And had ten sons to watch your herds," the youth added, resting his apprehensive brown eyes on her veiled face.

  "Perhaps," Ruha sighed, "but I would have always had to hide my magic, for fear that Ajaman would have reacted as you have. Probably, he would have found me out anyway, and that would have been the end to our marriage."

  Kadumi frowned and looked away, unable to deny what she said. "What does that have to do with you and the berrani?"

  "Nothing and everything," she said, fixing her eyes on Kadumi's face. "Lander knows of my magic, and it does not offend him. Can you understand how it feels for me to talk to someone who accepts me for what I am?"

  For several moments the boy did not look at her. Instead, he stared at the burnished pebbles on the desert floor with a vacant stare, his face marked by his conflicting emotions.

  At last he lo
oked up. "I can understand how you feel, but what does it matter? When you chose to become a sorceress, you chose the path of loneliness. When you spoke the marriage vows with Ajaman, you promised to honor him and his family. Nothing has changed."

  After riding a few more steps in silence, Kadumi suddenly looked away and whipped his mount into a gallop, then rode off toward the front of the caravan.

  Ruha groaned inwardly at his terse departure, then closed her eyes and tried to think of nothing.

  The bells of the sheikh's camel soon brought an end to Ruha's glum meditation. "A young woman should not ride alone," Sa'ar said, drawing up beside her.

  Ruha opened her eyes. "This one should."

  Sa'ar nodded. "Ah, yes-the curse of the flesh," he said. "For your husband's sake, you must be patient."

  The young widow studied the sheikh with an appraising eye. "What do you mean by that?"

  The sheikh looked at the sky and shrugged. "Nothing," he said. "Only that Lander strikes me as a handsome enough man, and you are a young widow. If you were a weaker woman, it might be natural to have certain feelings…"

  Sa'ar let the sentence trail off, and Ruha simply shook her head at his not-so-subtle warning. When the sheikh did not take her hint and leave her to ride alone, she closed her eyes. Before long, the rhythmic jingle of the sheikh's bells and her limping camel's rocking gait lulled her into a restful slumber.

  The young widow did not really sleep, for she remained awake enough to keep from falling off her camel. She was also aware of a hot breeze blowing against her face and of the periodic cries of warriors when they urged their hounds or birds after a lizard or snake for the evening's meal. The sun sank lower in the western sky, and At'ar's merciless rays struck Ruha's eyelids at increasingly horizontal angles. Kadumi's protectiveness and the sheikh's suspicions became distant worries, and the widow was resting as peacefully as she would have on a bed of soft carpets.