The Parched Sea (33 page)

The Harper took an involuntary step backward, raising his arm to shield his face.

“Now you die!” Bhadla rasped, already directly behind him.

Lander sidestepped quickly, then felt the D’tarig’s blade run along his ribs. The cut began to sting immediately. Groaning, the Harper dropped his raised arm down to clamp the D’tarig’s knife hand:

With his free hand, the Harper grasped Bhadla’s leathery wrist, then brought his knee up against the D’tarig’s forearm and broke it with a loud snap. Bhadla screamed and dropped the dagger. Without setting his leg back down, Lander swept the would-be assassin’s feet from beneath him, at the same time pulling forward on the broken arm. The D’tarig landed flat on his back directly in front of Lander.

Before the Harper could do anything else, Ruha stepped around him. Her jambiya flashed once, opening a six-inch gash across Bhadla’s throat. Blood began pouring onto the same carpet that the Harper and the witch had been lying upon moments before.

“Are there any more?” Lander asked, scanning the sides of the tent.

“Wasn’t that enough?” Ruha responded. “How badly are you hurt?”

Lander felt warm blood running over his fingers and realized that he was holding his wound. He pulled his hand away and looked at the cut. “Not bad,” he said. “It’s not-“

His rib cage erupted into agony, sending fiery fingers of pain shooting through his torso. He let out an involuntary oan, then stumbled backward and dropped into a seated position. The blaze was spreading through his body like a wildfire, and he could feel himself beginning to sweat.

Ruha rushed to his side. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Poison,” the Harper croaked. Already, his mind seemed lost in hot vapors, and the roar of an immense blaze filled his ears. He could think well enough, though, to remember something Florin Falconhand had once told him: Zhentarim assassins often carried counteragents to their own toxins, for they were afraid of accidentally poisoning themselves.

Lander rolled onto his side and pulled himself toward the D’tarig. Ruha’s hands were on his back, and she screamed something at him, but the firestorm in his head muffled her words.

“Antidote!” he gasped, finally latching onto Bhadla’s lifeless arm. His vision had narrowed to a tunnel, and he could see nothing but the D’tarig’s body at the end of his own long arm. He ran his fingers through Bhadla’s robes, searching for a vial or a tin of powder.

“There is no antidote;’ said a woman.

Lander felt Ruha’s hands brush his fingers aside, and he knew she was taking over the search. He sank back on his haunches and looked in the direction of the voice. “Who’s there?”

“You know me:’ The voice was as sweet as the song of a morning dove.

The tunnel of Lander’s vision dosed altogether and became a white fight. The light wavered for a moment, then took the shape of a ghostly, unveiled woman. “Mielikki?”

The Lady of the Forest nodded, coming closer. She kneeled at Lander’s side, then wrapped her arms around his body and pulled him into her lap.

“Save me;’ he whispered. “No:’

“But the Zhentarim-we’re not finished:’

” You are;’ the goddess answered, stroking his brow. The agony in Lander’s body began to subside, and he realized that the fire was dying because it was running out of fuel. “I violated the taboo,” he cried. “I slept with Ruha, and now the Bedine will pay.”

The ghostly woman kissed Lander’s forehead. He felt the last of his pain gather in his brow and flow out where her lips had touched his skin. “No, you helped a woman find her place;’ she whispered. “Now her people will have a chance at freedom:’

Eighteen

Ruha heard two warriors rush through the entrance of the khreima. The young witch did not A wait for them to ask what had happened. “Leave!” she ordered, hoping to hide the tears streaking down her bare face.

They did not obey. “What of the assassins?”

“All the Zhentarim are dead;” Ruha answered, barely able to keep the grief out of her voice. “We have no need of help:’

There was a silence as the two sentries studied the scene in the khreima.

“Go!” Ruha ordered. “Or must I use magic to ensure my privacy?”

The warriors withdrew, and Ruha finally felt free to cry. Her tears fell on Lander’s brow, for she was kneeling on the bloody carpet where he had fallen. His lifeless head was cradled in her lap.

The fatal attack had come so suddenly that Lander was cut and Bhadla lying on the ground before the wid

ow realized she had seen it happen once before. She had reached for her jambiya with a disjointed feeling of being a helpless spectator, and when she had cut the D’tarig open it had seemed as if she were watching someone else kill him. There had been an eerie quality to the whole fight that made it seem like a recurring dream, but, just as in a bad dream, she had not been able to change the outcome.

Looking toward the roof of the tent, Ruha let out an agonized sob. “If I can do nothing to change them, why do you torture me with mirages from tomorrow?” she cried. “If I knew where this loathsome sight came from, I would tear out the organ and fling it to the vultures!”

The gods did not answer, though Ruha had no doubt that they were watching her with cruel amusement. She sat staring at the khreima’s roof for a thousand pained heartbeats, looking past it in her mind’s eye to the starry sky above. “How much longer must I endure your curse?”

Again the gods remained silent, and the young widow dropped her eyes from the impassive roof. Her gaze fell on Bhadla’s jambiya and then rested on the glistening blade. She remembered that Lander’s death had been quick. No matter how painful the poison, it could not hurt any more than the grief she now felt. The widow reached for the dagger, still talking to the gods, “You always destroy those beloved to me and leave me with nothing. Why?”

As Ruha’s fingers closed around the hilt of the venomous jambiya, she thought of the man who had sent the treacherous weapon here with Bhadla. She was wrong, she realized, for at least one very important thing remained to her. Yhekal was still alive, the Zhentarim were still in Anauroch, and the Bedine needed her magic to win the victory.

Ruha removed Ajaman’s jambiya from the sheath on her belt and replaced it with the poisoned blade Bhadla had carried into her tent. “I know what you would want, my love;’ she whispered. “I will not fail you:’ “And you should not make the mistake of thinking that because we are not overcome with anguish, we do not grieve the loss of the Harper. As a warrior, he would recognize the need for clear thinking and decisive action at a time like this:’

“What is there to think about?” Ruha asked.

“What is there to do?” added Sa’ar. “We are doomed:’ “That may be;’ agreed Utaiba. “Certainly the violation of the widow’s taboo is a bad omen. If the warriors hear of it, they will lose their spirit:’ He cast a melancholy look on Lander’s lifeless face, then continued. “Still, we must attack. We have nothing to lose. As you have pointed out, Sa’ar, if we do not die in the morning, thirst will kill us by evening:’

Sa’ar looked thoughtful, then took his hand away from his scabbard and met Ruha’s gaze. “Utaiba speaks wisely, as always;’ he said. “If your husband’s spirit has cursed us, there is nothing we can do about it now. We have no choice except to fight. Let us do it together:”

Realizing that the gesture was as close to an apology as she would get from the proud sheikh, Ruha dismissed the spell from her mind. “Ajaman was only my husband for three days;’ the widow said, “But I knew him well enough to say that, even if his spirit were angry with me, he would do nothing to prevent us from destroying the Zhentarim and avenging the death of his tribe:”

:Then you will help us tomorrow?” Utaiba asked.

‘I have more deaths than any Bedine to avenge;’ Ruha replied, running her hands over Lander’s brow and closing his eyes. As she slipped his head off her lap and stood, she said, “I am hurt that you must ask:’

“Good, that is something;’ Utaiba said. “We must think of something to tell the warriors so that they will not take Lander’s death as a bad omen:’

Ruha took a sleeping carpet from one of her kuerabiches

and spread it over the Harper’s body. “They will not hear of Lander’s death:’

“How can you hope to keep such a thing secret? Every camp already knows that the Zhentarim attacked you and Lander;” objected Sa’ar. “When they do not see him in the morning, they will know he died. They will assume your husband’s spirit arranged it:”

“Tell your men that Lander and I killed the assassins,” Ruha said. “Tomorrow, he will join them in battle:’

The two sheikhs looked at each other with mixed expressions of nervousness and skepticism.

Ruha did not give them time to argue. “Tell the sheikhs that Lander was not hurt by the attack, but that I was terrorized. That will keep anyone from wanting to see him tonight and give me time to prepare:”

The sheikhs nodded. “We can do that much,” Utaiba confirmed.

Ruha pointed at the dead Zhentarim. “Those men had to come from somewhere,” she said. “And I don’t believe they sneaked past our sentry’s noses. We must find out how they left Orofin. Perhaps we can use their route to our advantage:’

“A good thought,” Sa’ar confirmed. the time stitching the gap closed. By now, Ruha knew, word of the assassination attempt had spread to all of the tribal camps, and she did not want any curious warriors peeking through the hole.

Utaiba returned just as she finished, bearing the single djebira containing Lander’s belongings. Ruha went through the bag and extracted Lander’s extra clothes, then put the bag aside.

“I shall see you an hour before dawn;” the young widow said.

Utaiba said, “I’ll send some guards to stand watch tonight.”

Ruha shook her head. “Guards will only draw comment;’ she said. “Better to let the warriors think that Lander is confident of his ability to defeat more assassins:’

Sa’ar objected, “But if the Zhentarim try something else-“

“I will deal with them;” Ruha interrupted.

“If you are awake, yes. But what happens if you fall asleep?” This time, the questioner was Utaiba.

Ruha pointed at Qoha’dar’s spellbook. “I’ll be too busy to sleep;’ she said, ushering the sheikhs toward the exit. “Find out how the Zhentarim escaped their hole. I’ll see you before dawn:’

“As you wish;’ Sa’ar answered, stepping outside. After the sheikhs left, the widow pored over Qoha’dar’s spellbook, searching for a way to keep her promise. Finally she found an enchantment that would fulfill her need. Ruha spent the next few hours memorizing the new spell, as well as two others that she thought might prove useful supplements.

When she heard the warriors beginning to stir in Sa’ar’s camp, Ruha sensed that the hour of battle was upon them. The widow put Qoha’dar’s spellbook away, then took Ajaman’s jambiya and slit a hole in the roof of the tent. She

enlarged it until the moon cast a silvery light on the carpet covering her lover’s corpse.

Ruha kneeled next to the body and pulled the carpet from Lander’s head. She looked upon his sallow face for a full minute, fighting to hold back her grief, swearing vengeance on those who-had taken his life. Finally she removed her veil and kissed him on the mouth.

Still holding her lips close to those of the dead man, she recited the incantation she had learned earlier that night. As she spoke, Lander’s dead features softened, becoming darker and more feminine. The yellow stubble of his beard faded, his skin darkened to a deep sienna, his eyes assumed the almond shape of Ruha’s, and his cheekbones grew high and prominent. Within seconds, the witch was looking at her own face. It looked so lifelike it almost seemed she had breathed life back into Lander’s body.

A moment later, the vision in her right eye became milky and blurred, then faded to blackness. When she could see only out of her left eye, she knew the transformation was complete. Lander had her face, and she had his.

Ruha removed the Harper’s eyepatch and put it over her now-useless eye, then took Lander’s spare keffiyeh from his djebira and slipped it onto her head. Within a few minutes, she was dressed head-to-toe in his robes.

Before she could cover Lander’s body again, Sa’ar and Utaiba approached, stopping outside the khreima and politely clearing their throats.

“Enter!” Ruha called. The voice issuing from her throat was Lander’s, not her own.

Frowning in wary confusion, the two sheikhs obeyed, both stopping a step inside the entrance with their jaws hanging slack.

“Lander?” gasped Sa’ar.

“You look terrible!” added Utaiba. “Your eye is sunken and your skin is the color of a camel’s water. Wait, where “I am Ruha;’ she announced softly. “I told you that Lander would join the attack:’ She waved the astonished sheikhs the rest of the way into the tent. `,`I did not say he would look well:’

The sheikhs dropped their eyes from Ruha’s face to Lander’s body, which still lay in the center of the tent. The corpse now had the young widow’s face, which was immodestly exposed. Flushing, Ruha kneeled down and quickly pulled the carpet over Lander.

“What have you done?” gasped Utaiba, still staring at the covered body.

“I don’t think you want to know;” Ruha answered. Lander’s loose robes made her feel awkward, and the fact that she was not wearing a veil gave her the uncomfortable sensation of being naked.

“Not in my worst nightmares;’ Sa’ar agreed. He forced himself to look back to Ruha.

After a slight shudder, the sheikh began describing the plan he and Utaba had developed with the other leaders. “We followed the assassins’ tracks back to a tunnel that opens in the desert outside the old city;’ he began. “Apparently, it was an old escape tunnel, in case the ksur was sieged:’

“Without doubt, the Zhentarim are guarding it;’ Utaiba added. “But i€ we can hill them into thinking we don’t know about it, perhaps we can use it to gain entrance to the fortress:’

Ruha nodded. “What do you have in mind?” she asked. Sa’ar smiled enthusiastically. “We will attack the breaches in the wall with a dozen tribes”’ he said. “Even without the tunnel, this tactic could succeed, for the Zhentarim will be hard pressed to defend all their weak points at once:’