The Parched Sea

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.”

Lander accepted the skin, saying, “I suppose that’s fair.”

The Harper took the waterskin back to his mount and hung it on the saddle, then drew his dagger and crept up behind the prisoner. Lander tried to move as quietly as possible, but he saw the Zhentarim flinch. The doomed man had sensed his presence. Nevertheless, the fat man continued to stare into the desert night.

Lander killed the Zhentarim merchant as quickly and painlessly as he could, plunging the straight blade of his dagger into the man’s heart from behind. Afterward he kneeled beside the body until the desert night began to chill him.

At last, the Harper cleaned his dagger on the dead prisoner’s robe, scoured the blood off his aba with a handful of sandy earth, then took his jellaba off his camel and put it on. When he felt ready to join Sa’ar, Lander urged his camel to its feet and led it to the campfire where the sheikh and his elder warriors had gathered.

As the Harper approached, Sa’ar turned with a broad smile. Lander saw that Kadumi stood in the middle of the sheikh’s entourage.

“Kadumi killed three men!” the sheikh announced.

“Good for him,” Lander replied, forcing a smile. “Let us hope he lives to kill many more.”

“My warriors counted just over five hundred dead,” Sa’ar reported proudly. “We lost only fifteen.”

“That means nearly a thousand Zhentarim escaped,” Lander said, turning his thoughts to the task at hand. “We’ll have to be careful that they don’t rally and return unexpectedly.”

Sa’ar frowned. “Do all your people look only at the bad side, Lander?”

“Five hundred dead is five hundred dead,” he said without emotion. “We’ll have to kill many more before we chase the Zhentarim from the desert. Now, how are we going to get your allies out of the canyon? There are fifteen hundred asabis and a powerful wizard in that canyon.” He pointed at a narrow crack leading to the Well of the Chasm.

Sa’ar turned his attention to the canyon. “If we could wait until morning, our task would be simple.”

“That, we cannot do,” said a gray-haired warrior with rotten teeth. “I sent my sons to scout along the rim of the canyon. From what they report, our allies are meeting the asabis in the canyon as we expected. My sons think the Raz’hadi will not last more than a few hours.”

“And in the morning light, the surviving Zhentarim will see our true number,” added another warrior. “If they returned, we would not survive long.”

Everyone nodded and muttered their agreement.

“Then we must attack tonight,” Sa’ar responded. “Gather your sons.”

“Wait,” Lander interrupted. “The canyon is too narrow for everyone to fight in at once, is it not?”

The old man with rotten teeth nodded. “That is so, berrani.”

“Then we lose nothing by leaving half of our warriors behind to defend our rear in case the Zhentarim return,” the Harper said. “It will do the Raz’hadi no good if we allow ourselves to be trapped in the canyon with them.”

The old man nodded. “This is a good plan.”

“Perhaps we can send some of them up to the canyon rim to fire arrows down at the asabis,” suggested another warrior.

Sa’ar paused and considered this plan, but it was Lander who said, “The canyon is very deep, and it will be very dark. How will your warriors tell their friends from the Zhentarim?”

“Amarats,” responded Kadumi, smiling. “When we blow our horns, the Raz’hadi will certainly respond. The warriors on the rim can fire between the horns.”

“And my horn will be the signal to stop,” Sa’ar said, grinning at the boy. “It is a good thing you are so young, my friend. When you are old enough, my warriors will want to make you sheikh.”

There was no mockery to the laughter that followed.

Sa’ar issued the necessary orders to his elder warriors, and they scattered to make their preparations. Realizing that Ruha’s magic might prove as useful in the battle to come as it already had tonight, Lander mounted his camel and returned to where he had left her. The widow was still staring at the dust cloud.

“How long can you keep that dust cloud going?” he asked. When Ruha did not respond, the Harper waved his hand at her face. “The battle’s over. You can let it down.”

Ruha looked away from the dark curtain, and the breeze died immediately. “To answer your question, the dust wall lasts as long as I can concentrate on it,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Which would not have been much longer.”

“You’re not feeling weak, are you?” Lander asked.

The widow shook her head. “My head aches, that’s all.”

“Thanks to Mielikki,” the Harper sighed. “Mount up and come with me.”

Ruha obeyed, asking, “Where are we going?”

“Into the canyon,” Lander replied. “We may have need of more magic.”

The widow was so shocked that she nearly fell from her camel’s back as it returned to its feet. “What if somebody sees me?”

“We’ll try to avoid that,” the Harper replied, urging his camel back to the camp. “But there’s too much at stake to let that worry us.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one they’ll banish!”

Lander stopped his camel and twisted in his saddle to face the widow. “There are fifteen hundred asabis in that canyon. A wizard, as well. Sa’ar is about to attack with a tenth that number and not even the faintest idea of what magic can do to him. Whether they know it or not, you’re probably all that stands between the Mahwa and annihilation. Ruha, there is only one thing you can do.”

Without waiting to see if the widow would follow, Lander started riding. When he reached the fire, he found a hundred and fifty of the Mahwa’s best warriors mounted and awaiting their sheikh.

As Lander and Ruha approached, Sa’ar turned to them. “This time, I have no need of your advice, berrani. I know asabis better than you.”

“True,” Lander said. “There is also a wizard or two in the canyon, and I know magic better than you.”

“I cannot argue,” the sheikh replied. He looked beyond Lander. “Will you take Ruha into the canyon?”

The Harper looked over his shoulder and saw the widow stopping her camel just behind him. She spoke before Lander could respond to Sa’ar’s question. “My thoughts have not changed, Sheikh. I will be safest in Lander’s company.”

“No!” Kadumi cried. He was mounted on one of his white camels and sat in the company of the sheikh’s warriors. “It is too dangerous!”

Ruha turned her gaze on the youth. “This will not be the first time my jambiya has tasted the invaders’ blood,” she said, her voice stern and steady. “Or have you forgotten who was the rescuer when the Zhentarim ambushed us outside of Rahalat?”

The boy quickly looked away. Lander could not tell whether he was embarrassed at recalling the mistake that had almost gotten him killed or upset at the memory of Ruha’s magic. In either case, the widow’s tactic worked well. Without turning his gaze back to Ruha’s face, Kadumi nodded to Sa’ar. “If it pleases you, Sheikh, allow my brother’s wife to ride with the berrani. As she claims, she will not cause us any trouble.”

Sa’ar raised an eyebrow, then nodded to Lander. “See that she stays out of the way.” The sheikh went to his camel. As he mounted, he pointed at Kadumi. “Why don’t you lead the way, fearless one?”

“Isn’t he a little young?” Lander objected.

The sheikh frowned at the Harper. “Did you not hear me earlier? This boy killed three men tonight.”

Kadumi paused to cast a self-righteous glance at the Harper, then turned to lead the way toward the canyon. Lander and Ruha waited for the end of the column with the sheikh before they fell into line. A few minutes later, the line switched to single file and rode into a narrow, dark ravine. The Harper rode behind the sheikh, and behind Lander came only Ruha.

Three feet to either side of the riders, the canyon walls rose high into the starry sky. On the ledges and shelves of the cliffs, heaps of yellow sand reflected the pale light of the crescent moon, making the rock itself seem all the more dark and foreboding. The floor of the canyon, too, was covered with a thick layer of sand.

Lander felt the footing grow softer beneath his mount’s feet, and the camel began to lunge as if going downhill. Ahead, the dark silhouettes of the war party were descending down the narrow chute two abreast, the shoulders of their mounts almost brushing the rock walls. Already, Kadumi had disappeared around a dark corner.

Though the tight quarters made Lander nervous, he knew that they worked to the Bedine’s advantage in this instance. It would be impossible to attack more than four abreast. Under such circumstances, the Zhentarim’s numerical superiority would do them little good. On the other hand, the Bedine could hardly mount a charge, and it would be an easy matter for the asabis to defend themselves. The Harper found himself searching the canyon rim, hoping to glimpse the warriors Sa’ar had assigned to attack from above. He saw nothing but the jagged silhouettes of rocks and, directly overhead, thousands of brightly twinkling stars.

Less than ten minutes into the canyon, a shrill amarat trilled from up ahead.

“That was Kadumi!” Ruha gasped.

“Don’t worry,” Sa’ar reassured her. “He’s as good a scout as I’ve seen in many a year. He’ll be fine.”

A murmur of excitement ran up the length of the column. The sheikh’s warriors pressed forward, nocking arrows in their bows. Lander could not see what was happening at the front of the line, for it was out of sight around a sharp bend.

An amarat with deep, rich tones called from the canyon, its sound muffled and softened by distance and the snakelike rift.

“Utaiba!” Sa’ar exclaimed, smiling. He fished his own massive amarat out of his djebira and hung it around his neck, ready to call off the attack from above when the time came.

A moment later, Lander and his companions rounded the corner. Because of the path’s steep slope, Lander could see over Sa’ar’s men for quite a distance. Fifty yards ahead the ravine, still descending at a steep angle, bulged out to a width of eighty feet. The bulge continued for a distance of a hundred yards, then the canyon once again narrowed to a width through which only two men could ride abreast.

Sa’ar’s warriors were crammed into the canyon in twos and threes. The front ranks, still led by Kadumi’s youthful form, had stopped and were firing their bows. The rear ranks had also stopped and drawn their bows. By slightly elevating their aim, many of these riders were using the advantage of the steep slope to lob arrows over the heads of their fellows.

The target of both groups was a throng of asabis, crowded into the bulge so thickly that they could hardly move. Under the direction of a Zhentarim officer, two dozen of the mercenaries had turned around to meet the attack from the rear, but most of the reptiles remained unaware of the peril. Their attention was directed at the far end of the bulge, where Lander could just see the silhouettes of a second group of Bedine warriors blocking the way deeper into the canyon.

The sheikh pointed at the Bedine obstructing the far end of the bulge. “My allies, the Raz’hadi,” he explained. “The asabis and their masters are trapped between us.”

As Sa’ar suggested, the Bedine were in excellent tactical position, but Lander felt far from confident. “I don’t like this,” he said. “The enemy is smart enough to have a rearguard.”

The sheikh chuckled and pointed back up the canyon. “It is gone. We chased it away!”

“Perhaps,” Lander allowed. Even if they had realized the Mahwa were coming to attack, the Zhentarim would never have believed that the force protecting the canyon mouth could be driven away. Still, he suspected that the enemy would spring a surprise or two of its own before the battle ended. “I hope we can take advantage of our good fortune.”

No sooner had he spoken than a flight of arrows whooshed down from the canyon rim. The Harper looked up and, two hundred feet above, he saw the dark forms of seventy-five men loosing another round into the bulge. Pained moans and confused growls rolled from the crowded ranks of the asabis. The Mahwa in the canyon gave a boastful cheer and added a volley of their own to the attack.

“The invaders are caught between the lions and the leopards,” Sa’ar bragged. “Not one shall escape!”

As the sheikh spoke, a hooded silhouette in the rear ranks of the asabi turned toward them. It pointed a finger at the forward ranks of the Mahwa.

“The wizard!” Lander yelled, pointing at the hooded figure. “Shoot him before—”

A tremendous clap filled the canyon, and Lander closed his eyes just before everything went white. The battle fell momentarily silent. By the time Lander opened his eyes again, the air already smelled of scorched camel hair and seared human flesh. The first eighty feet of the Mahwa ranks had been decimated. Dozens of camels and men lay on the canyon floor, some with tiny fires smoldering where the lightning bolt had hit them. Those who had not fallen, including the warriors in the rear ranks, were frantically rubbing their eyes, trying to recover their night vision.

At the edge of the bulge, Lander saw the stunned silhouette of a boy struggle to his feet, scimitar in hand. His knees looked weak and he seemed confused. Yet the boy—who could only be Kadumi—managed to stand, which was more than many of the men around him could do.

Beyond Kadumi, the hooded figure that had cast the spell was yelling at the asabis and waving them back toward the ranks of the Mahwa. Lander turned to Ruha and, to his relief, saw that she had also had the sense to shield her eyes. Pointing at the enemy wizard, he said, “That man must die!”

Ruha hesitated, glancing at Sa’ar and the other Bedine. In the same instant, the asabis began showering the Mahwa with crossbow bolts. Sa’ar’s men screamed in panic and confusion. The few who had begun to recover their sight returned the fire, and another volley of arrows hissed down into the bulge from the canyon rim.

“Do something or the Mahwa are lost!” Lander snapped.

“Give me sand,” the widow said, holding out her hand.

The Harper moved his camel a step closer to the canyon wall, then scraped a handful off a ledge and passed it to Ruha. When he looked back to the battle, the enemy sorcerer seemed to be facing the Mahwa again, though it was difficult to tell in the darkness. Lander feared he was preparing to cast another spell.

“Now, Ruha!”

Even as he spoke, he heard the widow whisper her incantation. The silhouette of a great cat appeared behind the enemy wizard, leaping in the Zhentarim’s direction. As it enclosed the man in its front paws, a terrified scream pierced the din of the battle. The cat dragged the man to the ground, and they disappeared into the mass of shadows cluttering the bulge. A moment later, there was a flurry of waving swords, and the cat’s defiant yowls implied that it was taking a few more Zhentarim with it.

Unfortunately the wizard’s death did not take the fight out of the asabis. Dropping their crossbows and drawing short swords, several hundred turned and charged the Mahwa. Lander saw Kadumi and a handful of other warriors brace to meet the charge, each carrying a scimitar in one hand and a jambiya in another.

“Fill the gap!” Sa’ar shouted, waving his rear ranks forward.

The column started down the canyon, moving too slowly for Lander’s tastes, but there was little he could do to urge it on. He pressed his camel as hard as he could, but in the tight quarters his mount could work its way past no more than the sheikh’s camel and a handful of other beasts.

At the edge of the bulge, the asabis rolled over Kadumi and the others. Lander saw the youth fall and disappear into the press. Drawing his scimitar and dagger, the Harper slipped off his camel.

“What are you doing?” Ruha called.

Surprised that the widow had managed to stay with him, Lander paused to say, “Kadumi’s in trouble.”

Ruha shocked him by drawing her own dagger and slipping from her mount’s back. “Given the way he’s been treating you, I’m surprised you care.”

On foot, the pair found it much easier to work their way forward. Although they could no longer see what was happening ahead, they slipped past the camels without trouble. As they moved, Lander could tell by the rhythm of volleys that the warriors on the canyon rim were keeping up a steady stream of fire, but the Mahwa in the canyon had put away their bows and drawn their scimitars.

Ahead of him, steel began to ring on steel, and the Harper knew the battle had turned desperate for both sides. If the sheikh’s men could prevent the invaders from breaking out of the bulge, the archers on the canyon rim would decimate them. If not, the asabis would cut them off and both the Mahwa and the Raz’hadi would be lost.

Twenty yards from where Kadumi had fallen, Lander found himself in the thick of the melee. As he stepped past a camel, a short blade came whistling toward his head. His body reacted automatically, pivoting at the waist to avoid the blow. Lander brought his scimitar down on the scaly arm wielding the short sword, then turned and thrust his dagger into the attacker’s abdomen. Only then did he have an opportunity to look at the reptile, which was staring at him with astonished, slit-pupiled eyes.

After that, the battle became a maelstrom of whirling blades and chiming swords. Lander advanced steadily, using the sword to block and the jambiya to kill, sometimes reversing his pattern and parrying with the dagger then slicing off an arm or leg with the curved blade of his scimitar. He dimly realized that a knot of Mahwa warriors had dismounted and were following his lead, pressing forward in a bloody hand-to-hand combat.

The Harper was also aware that Ruha trailed close behind him, for every now and then her dagger flashed into view. They made a good team, for her quick hand and alert eye were always ready to parry a thrust from his blind side or force an unseen attacker to hesitate long enough for the Harper to finish him off.

At last they reached the place where Kadumi had fallen. No more asabis stepped in to attack and, instead, began retreating into the bulge. A chorus of throaty cheers went up from the warriors behind Lander, and arrows began to sail over their heads as the Mahwa in the rear ranks resumed their attack.

“We forced them back!” Ruha said, her breath coming in labored gasps after the exertion of the battle.

“So it seems,” Lander said.

On the far side of the bulge, a series of amarat horns sounded, which the Harper hoped meant that the battle was also going well there. Without giving the matter any more thought, he sheathed his sword and, keeping his dagger handy, started to turn bodies over.

Lander found Kadumi not far from where he remembered seeing the boy fall. From what he could see in the dim light, the youth had suffered a nasty blow to the head and several minor gashes, but all of his limbs were still attached and he was breathing.

“Is he going to live?” Ruha asked.

“Maybe,” Lander answered. He sheathed his dagger, then picked the boy up. “But only if we get him out of here before the asabis charge again.”

The deep tones of Sa’ar’s amarat sounded from the rear of the Mahwa column. Instantly an eerie silence fell over the battlefield as the warriors on the canyon rim ceased their rain of arrows. A great cheer sounded from the far side of the bulge. Lander turned just in time to see a column of trotting camels come into sight, moving as fast as they could up the steep sands. The asabis were scattering toward the walls, leaving an open path up the center of the canyon.

“The Raz’hadi have broken through!” Ruha cried.

As the column of camels approached, the Harper did not know what to say. He could not imagine that the asabis, still nearly a thousand strong, had given up the battle and decided to let the Raz’hadi flee. Yet, that was exactly what it appeared had happened.

Lander watched for a few moments more before he realized what the mercenaries were doing. As the Raz’hadi approached the middle of the bulge, the asabis began climbing the canyon walls, scurrying up the cliffs just as if they had been running along the ground. Within seconds, they were streaming along the rock walls toward the mouth of the canyon.

“They’re going to cut us off!” the Harper said.

A concerned murmur rustled through the knot of warriors near Lander. The asabis were moving fast enough to overtake the camels, and trying to shoot so many before they passed would be hopeless.

Sheathing her weapons, Ruha said, “I can stop them.”

Without another word, the widow picked up two handfuls of sand and raised them high over her head. The warriors who had joined Lander in repulsing the asabi charge regarded her with suspicious expressions, but Ruha ignored them. She closed her eyes and recited her incantation, then began to hum in a steady, mournful note.

A soft hiss filled the canyon. By the light of the silver-white moon, Lander could see the sand piled on the ledges and shelves of the cliffs running down the rocks like the waterfalls of Archendale. Cursing and crying out in their guttural language, the asabis began dropping from the cliff-sides in tens and twenties.

The warriors began backing up the canyon, their eyes wide with disbelief and trepidation. Only one dared to say anything, and then a single word: “Witch!”