The Parched sea h-1

by Troy Denning

  Some hours later, Ruha felt her mount shift from its pebble-sore stride to a softer tread more suitable for dust or sand. She opened her eyes and saw that the caravan now traveled in a more tightly knit formation.

  Sa'ar still rode next to Ruha, but his attention was focused on a scout urgently whispering at his side. The sun had already touched the horizon, and night would soon fall. The dusk seemed unusually quiet and tense. Aside from the scout's murmuring voice and Sa'ar's jingling bells, the only sounds breaking the twilight were the soft footfalls of weary camels.

  The caravan had left the burnished pebbles of At'ar's Looking Glass behind. It now rode over a carpet of dust, indigo colored in the failing light. To all sides, the purplish towers of rock that had seemed so distant earlier rose like minarets into the sky.

  The Well of the Chasm lay less than a mile ahead, Ruha knew, through a labyrinth of stony spires that led to a deep canyon. Over a distance of several miles, the canyon descended to a depth of five hundred feet and ended in a boulder-strewn hollow. In the center of this small valley, a deep pit penetrated the bedrock to tap an underground stream of rust-colored water.

  While Sa'ar conversed with the scout, a knot of concerned warriors slowly gathered around. They rode in silence, straining to hear what the scout was reporting to the sheikh. Even Lander and Kadumi had returned, riding side-by-side a few yards to the widow's right. Ruha began to feel swarmed by the silent throng and wished that Sa'ar had selected some other part of the caravan for his conference.

  When the scout stopped whispering to him, Sa'ar wasted no time with deliberations or thought. He simply looked up and addressed his warriors. "Ready your bows and your scimitars," he ordered, signaling the caravan to stop. "Have the women wait here. If we do not return by dawn or if I send word for them to flee, they are to scatter into the desert. Should this happen, tell them not to wait for us, for we will not be joining them."

  When the warriors did not relay his orders quickly enough, Sa'ar barked, "Do it now!"

  As the throng dispersed, Lander urged his mount close to Ruha and Sa'ar. "What is happening, Sheikh?"

  "The Zhentarim are camped outside the canyon leading to the Well of the Chasm," Sa'ar replied. "They are just sending their asabis to destroy the Raz'hadi. We assume that our allies will meet the attackers in the narrowest part of the canyon. We are going to try to drive the Zhentarim away from their campsite, then attack the asabis from behind and free the Raz'hadi."

  Lander shook his head. "There are too many Zhentarim. You'll never drive them away. They'll just wipe you out while the asabis destroy your allies."

  "Perhaps," the sheikh replied. "But we must fight. It is a matter of honor for the entire khowwan."

  "Though it means dying in vain?"

  "Even so," Sa'ar acknowledged, nodding. "This is not your fight, berrani. You and Kadumi should wait with the women. Flee if we do not return."

  "I choose to fight," Kadumi called, drawing his scimitar. "The Zhentarim killed my father and my brothers in combat, and they slaughtered my mother and sisters without cause. It is my right to seek their blood."

  The sheikh regarded the boy with a sad expression. "As you say, it is your right. You may ride with my warriors."

  Lander spoke next. "This is not my fight, Sheikh, but I know more about the Zhentarim than any of your warriors. If you allow me to accompany you, I may be able to offer some advice."

  Sa'ar nodded. "I was hoping you would volunteer to do this, for those who know their enemies will prevail more often. I will keep you safe."

  "Then I'll stay with Lander," Ruha said, intruding on the conversation that had been going on all around her.

  Both the sheikh and Kadumi scowled at the widow, and Lander studied her with an expression of surprise and puzzlement.

  "Out of the question!" Sa'ar roared.

  "Why?" Ruha countered. "You have promised to keep Lander safe. Surely it will cause no trouble to extend that protection to me."

  "Lander rides with me because he may prove of use during the battle," the sheikh said. "Aside from being an unnecessary source of worry, what can you contribute to the warriors' cause?"

  Lander's good eye flashed with inspiration. He turned from Ruha to the sheikh. "Perhaps Ruha is concerned about what will happen to her if we do not return," the Harper said. "After all, she is a stranger to the Mahwa and has only Kadumi and me to watch after her."

  Sa'ar looked irritated. "She can't think she will be safer at the battlefield!"

  The widow said, "But I do. With Kadumi riding into the middle of the fight, I would feel much safer in Lander's company." Ruha glanced at her brother-in-law meaningfully. "Unless, of course, Kadumi prefers to stay with me and the other women during the battle."

  The youth clenched his teeth, and the widow saw that her threat was not lost on him. After giving Ruha a quick scowl, Kadumi addressed Sa'ar. "If it pleases the sheikh, I would entrust my sister-in-law to Lander's care. I have seen him fight and believe that even in the thick of battle, she will be safe with him."

  "If that's what you want, then I approve," the sheikh said, impatiently turning his attention away from the trio. "Now I must go and prepare my sons for battle."

  The three hundred warriors of the Mahwa said good-bye to their loved ones over the next quarter-hour, then gathered with their camels and weapons. Along with Kadumi and Lander, Ruha waited at the edge of the gathering, wondering what the night would bring. Several times, Lander started to ask a question of her, but Kadumi, who was straying no more than twenty feet from her side, always came over to smother the conversation.

  By the time the last radiance of At'ar had vanished from the western sky, the sheikh was satisfied with his tribe's battle preparations. He drew his scimitar and waved his warriors forward. The small force mounted their camels and formed themselves into a column, then slipped between the hulking rock spires without a sound.

  As Sa'ar's advisor, Lander rode at the sheikh's side. Ruha and Kadumi were a few yards behind the Harper. Like the rest of the column, they proceeded in tense silence, their thoughts occupied with images of what the night would bring.

  Within a half-mile of travel, the sheikh sent Kadumi forward to join the rest of the warriors. When the boy was gone, Lander allowed his camel to fall back, then turned to Ruha and whispered, "What do you have in mind?"

  The widow frowned, confused. "I don't understand."

  "What's your plan?" he asked. "Why did you ask to join the battle?"

  "To watch your back," she replied honestly.

  The Harper's jaw drooped. "What about your-?" He finished the question by gesturing as if he were casting a spell.

  Ruha raised her brow. "That's not why I came," she whispered, glancing at Sa'ar's back to make sure he wasn't eavesdropping on them. "What do you think I can do that will give three hundred men victory over three thousand?"

  "You did okay at the ambush," Lander countered. "I thought you had an idea."

  "No," Ruha said. "I just didn't want to be left alone."

  The Harper rubbed his chin, then looked toward the front of the column. "Just the same, it can't hurt having you here."

  They rode for another ten minutes before the column rounded a wishbone-shaped spire familiar to the widow. This had been the first oasis that Ruha had visited after Qoha'dar's death, so she recognized the terrain ahead. Less than two hundred yards away, a flat outcropping of rock rose from the desert floor, its walls draped in darkness. At the small plateau's southern end there was a narrow gap, barely visible in the pale light of the crescent moon. That gap was the beginning of the narrow, winding canyon that descended to the Well of the Chasm.

  The scouts stopped in the shadow of the wishbone spire, awaiting the sheikh's command. Gathered in front of the canyon was the unsuspecting army of the Zhentarim. Their camels were unladen, and the men were gathered in small clusters, laughing and joking without regard to danger. From the dark gap leading into the chasm came a sporadic stream of shouting, ama
rat sirens, and guttural yells-the only sign that there was a battle nearby.

  As Sa'ar paused to study the scene ahead, Lander turned to Ruha, an unspoken question in his eye.

  "What do you think I can do?" she hissed.

  The Harper shrugged. "It would be nice if the enemy couldn't tell how many of us there are," he answered. Without waiting for a response, he moved forward to take his place next to the sheikh.

  Realizing that she might be able to accomplish what the Harper wanted, Ruha stopped behind the sheikh and forced her camel to kneel. She paused to make sure that everyone's attention was fixed on the Zhentarim camp. When she felt satisfied that she was last thing on anyone's mind, the widow picked up a handful of dust.

  The sheikh raised his scimitar and signaled his warriors to charge.

  Ruha whispered her wind incantation, then blew the dust from her hand. As the warriors galloped toward the unsuspecting Zhentarim, a gale rose at their backs, catching the dust raised by their camels and lifting it high into sky. Within moments, the cloud stretched across the entire valley and was billowing a hundred feet into the air.

  "What's happening?" Sa'ar cried.

  "Who can say?" Lander replied. Over his shoulder, he cast an approving glance at Ruha, then turned back to the sheikh. "But from the Zhentarim camp, it must look like you've sent ten thousand warriors into battle!"

  Eleven

  As the dust cloud descended on the Zhentarim, Lander's sword hand went to his weapon's hilt and fitfully rested there. He was still sitting at Sa'ar's side, below the wishbone-shaped minaret, and he found himself wishing he were riding into battle instead.

  Two hundred yards ahead, the wall of dust was sweeping toward the canyon that led down to the Well of the Chasm. Inside that dark curtain were the sheikh's three hundred charging warriors. Lander hoped their surprise assault, combined with the dust cloud Ruha had arranged, would convince the Zhentarim that they were under attack by a much larger force. With a little luck, the Black Robes would panic and flee their camp, leaving a clear route into and-more importantly-out of the Well of the Chasm.

  After that, rescuing Sa'ar's allies would be a simple matter of defeating the asabis, then collecting the other tribe and fleeing before the enemy regrouped and counterattacked. Even if the warriors drove away the Zhentarim camped outside the canyon, Lander had no idea how the Mahwa would accomplish the second half of the plan, but he saw little sense in worrying about it until the first part was achieved.

  When muffled screams and roars began rolling out of the dust cloud, Lander knew the Mahwa had reached the enemy's camp. A warrior's blade sang out as it clanged against a defender's saber, then there was another chime, and another. It was not a sound the Harper was happy to hear. Ringing steel meant the Zhentarim were fighting, and the Mahwa could not win a battle outnumbered as badly as they were.

  Wondering if there was anything else that Ruha could do, Lander glanced over his shoulder. She stood next to her kneeling camel, her eyes still fixed on the dust cloud, her robes flapping in the wind. The Harper realized she was still concentrating on her first spell and could do nothing else unless he wanted her to let the dust curtain die away.

  When Lander turned back around, he saw Sa'ar scowl and reach into a djebira. When the sheikh pulled his hand from the saddlebag, it contained a huge amarat. "In case I need to call a retreat," Sa'ar explained, resting the horn in his lap.

  The sheikh had no need to sound his amarat. During the next minute, another dozen blades clanged, then, save for the wail of the wind, the dust cloud fell ominously silent. A moment later, there were a few shouts and the murmur of Bedine voices, both muffled by Ruha's wind magic, but the voices quickly fell silent again. The sheikh scowled, concerned.

  "Is this Zhentarim magic?" he asked Lander.

  The Harper shook his head. "Their sorcerers prefer more spectacular displays."

  A single warrior came galloping out of the dust cloud.

  Sa'ar leaned forward in his saddle, looking for more men behind the rider. When the Mahwai reached the pair, Lander saw that his aba was spattered with dark stains, and the Harper could smell the coppery odor of blood. The warrior's camel was so charged that the young man could barely keep his mount under control.

  As the rider reined his camel to a halt, the sheikh asked, "What happened?"

  The warrior smiled. "With Kozah's wind, we drove the Zhentarim before us like gazelles before the lion," he said. "They have fled into the desert."

  Sa'ar shouted for joy. "I shall ride the Zhentarim into the sands of death."

  After sending the warrior galloping back with orders to assemble the elders, Sa'ar slowly started forward. Lander followed, but Ruha remained standing next to her camel.

  The sheikh twisted about in his saddle and called, "You wanted to see the battle. Aren't you coming?"

  When Ruha showed no sign of responding, Lander quickly covered for her. "There may still be Zhentarim hiding in the dust storm. It would be safer for her to wait here."

  Sa'ar shrugged, then turned back toward the invaders' camp. As Lander and the sheikh approached it, Ruha thoughtfully allowed the dust cloud to drift to the other side of the battlefield, and the gale quieted to a gentle wind.

  It was wrong to think of the site as a battlefield. Several hundred campfires, flaring and flickering in the breeze, were strewn over two acres of barren, dusty ground. Near each fire lay two or three corpses wrapped in black robes. Sa'ar's warriors were bustling from fire to fire, slitting the throats of those who moved or groaned.

  The casualness with which the Bedine dispatched the wounded shocked Lander, who was not accustomed to murdering captives in cold blood. Nevertheless, the Harper realized that taking prisoners was a practical impossibility for the Bedine, and he certainly had no wish to let the evil men go free. Instead, he motioned in the direction of a Zhentarim who was about to be dispatched, then said, "Perhaps you should save one for interrogation. It would also be wise to have someone count the enemy dead."

  Sa'ar nodded. "I see you are a practical man. That is good."

  The sheikh called a warrior over, then relayed Lander's request. The man returned a few moments later, dragging along a Zhentarim with a bloody leg. The warrior dumped the prisoner at a nearby campfire without ceremony, then trudged off to tally the dead.

  Sa'ar went to meet with his elder warriors, and Lander dismounted to interrogate the prisoner. The Zhentarim was chubby and slovenly, with a thick double chin and a face that had not been shaved in a week. His eyes were glazed with terror, and the Harper had little trouble seeing that the prisoner hoped to make a bargain that would save his life.

  "You look more like a merchant than a mercenary," Lander began, speaking in Common and taking a seat next to the corpulent man.

  "A bit of both," the wounded man grunted. "Yhekal promised me a caravan concession."

  "And you believed him?" Lander asked incredulously.

  The prisoner shrugged. "Somebody will have to run the caravans. I thought it might as well be me."

  A Bedine warrior stopped near their campfire to cut the throats of two unconscious Zhentarim. The prisoner watched the death of his comrades, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He looked to Lander with an unspoken question.

  "I'm not going to lie to you," the Harper replied. "The Bedine don't take prisoners. If they don't kill you tonight, you'll die a worse death tomorrow. Perhaps if you help us…"

  The fat man's eyes grew angry. "Why should I tell you anything?"

  "That's up to you," Lander shrugged. The best way to make a prisoner talk, he knew, was to make him think you did not need the information he was giving you. "I already know you number about fifteen hundred, you're all hungry, you have fifteen hundred asabis-"

  "Asabis?" the prisoner asked, grimacing at a wave of pain from his injured leg.

  Lander pointed toward the canyon mouth. "The reptile mercenaries clearing the canyon."

  The merchant nodded. "They call themselves '
laertis.' "

  "Gruesome creatures," Lander commented. "I thought they only lived in the middle of the desert."

  The Zhentarim moaned, then held his leg with his hands. "The laertis have tunnels everywhere. We picked those up a hundred miles outside Addas Babar. They crawled out of a deep well."

  Lander nodded, noting the similarity between the prisoner's report and what Sa'ar had told him.

  The prisoner licked his lips. "Do you have any water?"

  "Of course," Lander answered. He went to his camel and returned with a waterskin, then offered it to the portly man. "I don't blame you for not wanting to die thirsty."

  The prisoner nodded his thanks, then opened the waterskin and began pouring the contents down his throat. The fat man drank so greedily that water spilled out of his mouth and ran down his grimy cheeks in waves.

  Lander grimaced at the thought of wasting so much precious liquid on a dead man, then felt ashamed for being so hard-hearted.

  When the man lowered the waterskin from his lips, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and said, "I shall die a happy man. What do you want to know?"

  Twenty minutes later, the Harper knew everything that the prisoner did about Yhekal's plan. Lander had correctly guessed the Zhentarim's intent to enslave the Bedine and even the size of their army. He also confirmed that the invaders were traveling at night because of their mercenaries.

  The Harper learned two new things, as well. First, the asabis had to spend the day burrowed underground, either a few feet beneath the sand, in a cave, or sometimes huddled in a rock crevice. Second, when the Mahwa attacked, Yhekal had been in the camp and presumably fled with the rest of the Zhentarim. Unfortunately, he had sent a wizard, along with fifty human officers, into the canyon to lead the reptiles in the attack on the Raz'hadi.

  After the prisoner had drunk the last of Lander's water, his wounded leg sent a violent shudder of pain through his body and he cried out. The fat man waited for the wave to pass, then turned to Lander. "I've told you all I know of the Zhentarim," he said, handing the empty skin back to the Harper. "If you are going to kill me, do it now. This leg is beginning to throb."