by Troy Denning
“There! Look!” Lander said, pointing. His lips were so dry and chapped that they cracked and bled when he spoke.
The witch obediently turned her mount around and stared to the east. She saw nothing but the darkening horizon. “What?”
“Something’s following us,” he insisted.
Kadumi joined the pair, stopping on the other side of Lander. The youth’s eyes were bloodshot, but rimmed with far less red than the Harper’s. “Where?” the boy asked.
Lander adjusted the direction in which his finger was pointing. “Right there. It’s just a shadow.”
Kadumi peered at the horizon for a minute, then glanced at Ruha and shook his head.
The young widow took a few moments to search the horizon herself. “There’s nothing there, Lander,” she said at last.
He nodded. “It’s gone now, but we’ll have to be careful.”
The widow shook her head sadly. Lander had been saying the same thing all day, apparently fearing the Zhentarim were still following. Ruha and Kadumi did not discount the possibility entirely, but they both thought it more likely that the invaders had turned back two days ago. The Shoal of Thirst was so scorching that most Bedine could not survive a journey across it, so it seemed impossible that the water-loving Zhentarim could endure such a punishing journey.
To Ruha it appeared more likely that Lander was suffering from a delirium. The combination of heat and thirst were making him imagine things. The widow forced her camel to kneel, then removed a waterskin from one of the milk-camels. She opened the skin’s mouth and walked to Lander’s side.
“Drink,” she said. “You’re seeing phantoms.”
“I’m not seeing things. Somebody is following us,” the Harper insisted. Nevertheless he accepted the waterskin, then looked from Ruha to Kadumi. “Are you and Ruha drinking?”
The youth shook his head. “We’re not thirsty,” he said. Despite what he told Lander, he could not take his eyes off the waterskin. “There is plenty of water, though. Drink.”
“If we have plenty of water, there’s no harm in you and Ruha drinking with me,” Lander countered, holding the waterskin toward the boy.
“We’ll have milk tonight,” Kadumi said. “Bedine prefer camel’s milk to water.”
The Harper snorted. “Nobody prefers camel’s milk to water.” He turned to Ruha and leaned down to offer her the water. A spoonful of the contents spilled out of the mouth and trickled down the side.
“Be careful!” Ruha said.
The Harper smiled. “I think Kadumi is not telling the truth.” He tied the waterskin’s mouth, then held it toward Ruha.
“You must drink,” she said, not accepting the skin. “You’re growing delirious.”
The Harper shook his head, then licked the blood from his chapped lips. “I may be thirsty,” he said, “but I’m not imagining things.” When she did not take the water, Lander said, “This skin is heavy. I’m about to drop it.”
“You are a stubborn fool,” Ruha said, accepting the waterskin. Nodding at the open throat of Lander’s cloak, she added, “Are you trying to kill yourself? Close your jellaba.”
The widow returned the waterskin to the back of the haggard milk-camel, then mounted her beast again. The trio turned their camels into the setting sun and resumed their trek. This time, they rode three abreast, Lander between Ruha and Kadumi, where they could keep a watchful eye on him.
As they rode, the Harper periodically twisted around in his saddle and stared at their backtrail. Ruha did likewise, just in case Lander was not imagining things and they really were being followed. She did not see any Zhentarim, but the widow did notice that the milk-camels were beginning to stumble, a sure sign that they were dehydrated. This came as no surprise to her. Under good summer conditions, a camel could go for two weeks without drinking. Crossing the Shoal of Thirst could hardly be considered good conditions, and the trio was pressing their beasts hard. The white glare of the endless flat made At’ar’s heat even more unbearable. To make matters worse, the salt prevented plants from growing in the basin, and when camels could not eat, they had to drink.
Finally Kadumi could stand the twisting and squirming no longer. As Lander pivoted to stare at the backtrail for perhaps the twentieth time, the youth asked, “Have you seen anything yet?”
The Harper shook his head. “Not since we stopped.”
Kadumi sighed in relief. “At least your delirium is not constant.”
“I’m not delirious,” the Harper responded patiently.
“And how would you know?” Ruha asked. “An incoherent man cannot tell a mirage from an oasis until he tries to drink from it.”
“This is no mirage.”
Kadumi groaned and shook his head, then the riders continued in silence. Ruha was glad that the youth had insisted upon coming along. After being rescued by her and the Harper during the Battle of the Chasm, the boy had matured a great deal, and he was proving a real asset on this journey. He was an excellent desert traveler, but more than that, his competence and steadfast attitude were a comfort to Ruha whenever Lander’s delirium began to worry her.
At’ar fell to within a span of the horizon, and her disc vanished into the yellow, cloudless sky. Air currents began to eddy around the riders, whipping their faces with invisible salt grains borne on warm, withering winds. Ruha’s eyes started watering, and she envied Lander the patch that protected his bad eye.
“I hope your spellbook is worth this,” Kadumi said. He pulled his keffiyeh off his head and wrapped it around his face like a woman’s veil.
It was Lander who responded. “Any magic is worth—”
The roar of a camel interrupted the Harper. Immediately Ruha stopped the string and spun around in her saddle. The second camel in line was collapsing to its front knees, its eyes rolled back in their sockets.
“Kadumi!” she called, leaping from her camel.
“What’s wrong?” Lander asked, staring at the dying camel.
Ruha did not answer as she ran.
The widow could not move fast enough. The haggard beast rolled over onto its side, bursting one of the waterskins it carried.
“No!” Ruha grabbed the halter and tried to pull the camel back to its knees, but its sinewy neck had already fallen limp. The widow gave up on the dead beast and stepped around to its back. There was a slight depression where the water had dissolved some salt, and a dark stain was spreading out from beneath the beast as the ground absorbed the spill. Otherwise, not a sign remained of the four gallons of water they had lost.
Ruha grabbed the collapsed skin and tried to pull it from beneath the camel, hoping it still contained a few cups of water. Kadumi moved to her side and lifted the dead camel’s back enough for the widow to withdraw the skin. There was perhaps two quarts of water remaining in the bottom.
Lander joined them a moment later. “What happened?” he asked, eyeing the dead camel.
“Exhaustion,” Ruha explained. She handed him the waterskin. “Drink.” It was a command, not a suggestion.
The Harper accepted the skin and carefully lifted it to his lips.
“It’s time,” Kadumi said, removing the waterskins from the side of the camel that had not fallen to the ground. “We’ll stop here for the night.”
Ruha ran an appraising eye over the other four haggard beasts. They all stood on wobbling knees, their flank and shoulder muscles quivering.
“We can go no farther,” the witch agreed.
Lander took the waterskin away from his lips and passed it to Ruha. “Time for what?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” Kadumi explained, moving to the head of the line. “Help me unload the camels.”
While Kadumi and Lander unloaded the first camel, Ruha allowed herself a few swallows from the skin. The water was awful stuff, hot and stinking of its container, but it refreshed her regardless of the taste. When she judged she had drunk about a quarter of its contents, she passed the skin to Kadumi and helped Lander unload the other ca
mels.
After they had stacked their nine remaining waterskins together, Kadumi milked each of the live camels. He extracted less than a gallon, but Ruha was grateful to have that much. Exhausted camels did not produce much milk.
As Ruha laid out their beds, Lander eyed the meager bucket of milk. “You and Kadumi have the milk tonight,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” Ruha observed. “But don’t worry. There will be more.”
Lander raised an eyebrow. “There will?”
“Of course,” Kadumi answered, picking up the waterskin they had salvaged from the collapsed camel. “Tonight, we shall have a feast.”
The Harper grimaced.
“What’s wrong?” Ruha asked.
“I’m not sure that I’d call any meal in this desert a feast.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t call it a feast,” Kadumi admitted. “Still, our bellies will be full.”
He went to the string of milk camels, then selected the three weakest and led them away.
“Where’s he going?” Lander asked.
“Those camels are too weak to continue,” Ruha answered.
“So what’s he going to do?”
“Kill them,” Ruha answered, surprised at the Harper’s foolish question. “Help me water the others.”
She went to Kadumi’s mount and removed a large skin bucket, then was surprised to see that the Harper had not followed her. Instead, Lander was staring after Kadumi with a dismayed expression. Leading Kadumi’s camel toward the stack of waterskins, she said, “Lander, hold the other camels. I don’t want to get trampled when I start watering.”
Ruha allowed each beast to drink two full skins, a total of about eight gallons per animal. For a camel, it wasn’t much water, but she hoped it would be enough to get them to the Sister of Rains. The last skin of water she saved for herself and her companions. Without milk, they would need plenty of water over the next two days.
Kadumi returned just as dusk fell. The rich odor of blood clung to him, and he carried a full waterskin over his shoulder. Ruha poured the milk into the same bucket from which she had watered the camels, then took the warm waterskin from Kadumi and also poured its dark contents into the bucket.
Lander regarded the whole operation with an expression of disgust on his face. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Blood and milk,” Ruha confirmed.
She scraped a handful of salt off the ground and crumbled it into the concoction, then used her jambiya to mix it all together. When she was satisfied with its consistency, she dipped Kadumi’s bakia into the bucket and handed the wooden cup to him, then did the same for Lander.
Kadumi drained the cup in a single swallow, then smacked his lips. “Still warm.”
“You must be mad,” Lander said, pouring his back into the bucket. “What’s wrong with a little camel meat?”
Ruha snatched his cup from his hand and refilled it. “Eating meat makes you thirsty for days,” she snapped. “Drink this—you won’t get much else.”
When she thrust the cup back at him, the Harper stared at it in disgust.
“What’s wrong?” Kadumi demanded, passing his cup back to the widow. “This is good.”
Lander glared at the boy for several moments, then lifted the cup to his lips and drank it down in one long gulp. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and pushed the cup back at Ruha. “Another,” he said, struggling to keep from retching.
“That’s more like a Harper,” the widow said, smiling beneath her veil.
Lander and Kadumi managed to drink four more cups before the Harper began to look as though he would be ill. When they gave their bakias to Ruha for a fifth refill, she said, “I think you’ve had enough. If you vomit, it’ll take half a skin of water to replace the fluids you lose.”
“Bless you, Ruha,” Lander gasped, turning toward his bed. “I’ll take the second watch—I hope.” He collapsed onto his side and lay there in a fetal position.
The following morning, there were clouds in the sky. They were high, ashen things that hid At’ar’s face, but did little to lessen her fervor. If anything, the heat seemed thicker and more acute.
The trio broke camp quickly then resumed their journey, Lander still pausing at odd intervals to search their back trail. The trio passed the morning in weary silence, the overcast day providing relief from At’ar’s glare but not from her heat. The scenery never changed. The basin stretched on endlessly, its tablelike surface shimmering pearl-gray in the overcast light. The flat, gray-white terrain did not vary even a foot in elevation, and Ruha felt as though she were riding across an immense cooking pan. The sky remained drab and ashen, the bands of silvery light streaking the clouds the only variation in the monotonous panorama.
In late morning, purple veils began to drift down from the clouds. At first, the sight of the distant rain lifted the trio’s spirits, but as the shower moved toward them, it became apparent that the rain was not reaching the ground. The hot air rising from the salt flats was changing the water into vapor long before it reached the desert floor. Ruha cast one forlorn glance at the shower, then shook her head and kept her attention fixed on the crusty ground beneath her camel’s feet.
Both the clouds and the shower vanished with the arrival of afternoon. Once again the basin was a glistening sea of salt and the sky a blue canopy. A shimmering lake appeared on the horizon. Ruha knew the distant water to be nothing but a reflection of the sapphire sky, but the mirage was unbearable. Most of the time, she was conscious of her thirst only as a constant discomfort that kept her from swallowing. With the blue lake on the horizon, she could think of nothing but the half-full waterskin. Her thirst became a raging fire, and she had to fight every moment to keep from opening the waterskin and drinking until she burst.
By evening a line of indigo mounds floated on the waters of the mirage, and Ruha realized they were closing on the edge of the salt flat. She told Kadumi to steer their path toward the largest of the dark-colored pyramids.
Encouraged by the sight of the mountains, they rode well past dark, not stopping until the ground began to rise and the footing became unsteady. The trio finally made camp in the bottom of a dry gulch and even found enough dried brush to make a fire—although they had nothing to cook on it.
The next morning, they rose with the dawn and saw that they were camped in the foothills at the base of a small mountain range. To the west, the mountains themselves rose five thousand feet into the sky, forming a jagged wall of gray rock. Their dun-colored slopes were dotted with dark spots that could only be plants.
Ruha pointed at the large peak she had told Kadumi to use as a landmark yesterday. “The Sister of Rains lies at the base of that mountain,” she said. “If we ride hard, we shall eat wild figs and drink spring water tonight.”
“Then why are we standing around?” Lander asked, un-tethering his camel.
The trio rode along the base of the mountains, fighting a constant struggle to keep their hungry camels from stopping to devour every stray saltbush the small company came across. Throughout the morning, Lander checked their backtrail for the Zhentarim, but by afternoon he no longer bothered. Ruha guessed that the Harper’s reason had more to do with the difficulty of spotting pursuers in the rolling terrain than with feeling sure they hadn’t been followed, but she did not care. Without Lander twisting about in his saddle or stopping the caravan to search the horizon, they made better time.
When they reached a large wadi leading down from the mountains, Ruha directed the small company to turn up the sandy gulch. Their camels, sensing that the journey was near an end, moved with renewed vigor. Once, a hare bolted across the ravine. Kadumi leaped off his camel to follow the animal and pull it from its sandy burrow, but that was the only time they stopped.
Just before dusk, the tinkle of running water began to echo down the wadi. The camels started snorting and roaring in excitement, and it was all the three riders could do to keep their mounts
from galloping. The walls of the gulch grew steeper and became cliffs, and a carpet of lush grass soon blanketed the sandy floor.
The trio came to a stone wall stretching clear across the canyon and standing fifteen feet high. There was an ancient gate of rusty iron in the center of the rampart, but it would do little to keep anyone from crossing the barrier now. Several huge breaches gapped the wall, apparently caused by the sporadic floods that flashed down the canyon. On the southern wall of the wadi, a dozen tiny springs spilled out of the rocks, then cascaded down the cliff.
“The Sister of Rains,” Ruha said, pointing at the tiny waterfalls.
The widow led the way through the closest breach. Behind the wall, the springs collected in several small pools at the base of the cliffs, giving life to dozens of fig trees and a grove of other fruit-bearing plants. Ruha was surprised at how wild the thicket had grown since she had left, for she and Qoha’dar had worked hard to tend the garden and keep it orderly.
On the other side of the wadi, thirty feet above the floor of the gulch, lay a wide ledge where an ancient tower had once stood. Most of its stones were scattered and half-buried in sands below the ledge, but the foundation was still intact.
The widow could not stop a tear from coming to her eye. As a young girl, the oasis had been a cage to her, a cage into which she had been cast because of the shame and trouble her visions had brought down on her father’s head. Now, her mind was flooded with memories of tending the fruit trees with Qoha’dar, of ignoring her guardian’s stern warnings and exploring the tower ruins, of sneaking down to spy upon the rare khowwan that had worked its way along the edge of the Shoal of Thirst to graze at the Sister of Rains. With the Zhentarim invading Anauroch and slaughtering whole tribes, even the hot, dreary work of herding goats and making cheese seemed a peaceful and cherished memory.
“Is something wrong?” asked Kadumi, jarring Ruha out of her reverie.
She shook her head. “No. I was just thinking that this is one oasis I hope the Zhentarim never visit.”