The Parched Sea

Fourteen

Lander and Ruha crested the last of a seemingly endless chain of thousand-foot knolls. The Harper did not need to ask to know they had reached Elah’zad. The hill sloped down to a small basin encircled by grayish ridges similar to the one upon which they sat. Over a hundred small springs opened on the hillsides and trickled down the gentle slopes. Crimson-leafed shrubs with blue stems and twiggy trees with copper and silver sprigs bordered each stream. From the ridge, the vividly colored shrubs resembled magic fires and the metallic-hued trees looked like billows of enchanted smoke.

The colorful bands of vegetation were spread over the basin like an immense spider web. Each strand followed a life-giving stream down the hill to a sapphire nucleus of water, a lake covering fully a square mile of the bottom of the basin. In the center of the lake sat a small, grassy island. On the island stood an alabaster palace built in the shape of a three-quarters moon.

Along a band of lush grass girding the lake, fifteen khowwans had pitched their tents in tribal clusters. Men were gathered in small groups in the areas between the tribes, but the women and children remained steadfastly within their own camps. Lander saw no sign of any camels.

“It’s magnificent!” Lander gasped.

“Elah’zad was the home of the moon goddess,” Ruha explained, forcing her camel to kneel. “But At’ar drove her away and made it a prison for the Mother of the Waters.”

“Why?” the Harper asked.

Ruha gave Lander an alluring, mocking glance. “The usual reason women quarrel. At’ar was jealous of Eldath’s beauty.”

Lander was surprised to hear Ruha use a familiar name for the goddess of the singing waters. “Eldath is free,” he objected. “She is worshiped all over Faerûn.”

The widow looked over her shoulder. In the distance, just beyond the farthest set of hills, the white salts of the Shoals of Thirst still gleamed in the sun. “Perhaps Eldath is free in Sembia,” she said, “but in Anauroch, she is At’ar’s prisoner.”

The young widow slipped off her camel, then motioned for Lander to do the same.

They led their mounts down the hill as far as the first spring. Ruha carefully tethered the beasts to a smoke-twigged tree, well out of reach of the water. “Camels are not allowed to drink of the sacred waters,” she explained. “Some boys are coming to take them to the camel well.”

Lander raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“By now the sentries have relayed word of our arrival to Sa’ar and Utaiba. One of them will send some boys from his tribe to tend our camels.”

“That makes sense,” the Sembian replied. He had given no thought to the sentries surely posted around the oasis, for he had not heard them sound any alarm. “Why didn’t we hear any amarats?”

“I don’t know, and it worries me. But rest assured that we have been seen.”

“Should we take their silence as a warning?” he asked. “Could Sa’ar and Utaiba have changed their minds and be planning some sort of an ambush?”

The widow shook her head. “Most Bedine keep their word,” she said, pulling the djebiras containing Qoha’dar’s spellbook off her mount’s back. “Still, there are many other sheikhs down there, and they were not a party to our agreement.”

Lander scowled, his stomach already growing knotted at the prospect of being turned away after his difficult journey.

When the Harper did not move toward the camps, Ruha said, “Let’s go. We are not going to stop the Zhentarim and kill Yhekal by standing around up here.”

She started down the hill, leaving the camels roaring in protest at not being allowed to drink. As she passed Lander’s mount, it even tried to nip at her. The Harper could sympathize with the beasts’ fury. The animals had not had any water since leaving the Sister of Rains three days ago.

On the morning following the assassin’s attack, Lander had taken the camels to drink from the springs while Ruha washed Kadumi’s body. After the corpse was prepared for its journey, the pair had buried it near the wall, covering the grave with rocks to prevent scavengers from digging it up. They had bothered with no such courtesy for the Zhentarim. Instead, Lander had taken the man’s magic ring, then dragged his body away from the oasis and left it in the open for the vultures.

After that, they had picked the last of the wild figs, then dashed across the northern edge of the Shoal of Thirst. Though the journey had seemed hotter than the first crossing, it had been alleviated by a surplus of drinking water and the fact that the milk camel had started providing again.

Now Lander was looking forward to a meal of solid food. Other than the figs and the rabbit Kadumi had caught at the Sister of Rains, he and Ruha had eaten nothing but camel’s milk and blood since the Battle of the Chasm. The Harper was surprised at how well it had sustained him, but the effects of his liquid diet were beginning to tell. His scabbard belt was now wrapped three times around his waist instead of the customary two, and he had taken to chewing scrub twigs just to exercise his teeth.

As the pair descended toward the lake, a handful of boys rushed up the slope to meet them. When the group arrived, Ruha told them where to find the camels, then the youths rushed off to fulfill their responsibility. A few moments later, another group of older boys, about ten or twelve, approached.

“You are to come with us to Sheikh Sa’ar’s tent,” said the tallest. He studied them carefully, then looked past them up the trail. “We were told there would be three of you.”

“Kadumi isn’t with us,” Lander answered, not bothering to explain what had happened.

The boys glanced from the Harper to Ruha, exchanging knowing looks and regarding Lander with suspicious expressions.

“Lead the way,” the Harper ordered, upset by the iniquitous assumptions that he guessed were running through the youths’ minds.

The boys surrounded the pair and eventually led them into one of the camps at the edge of the lake. As the escort brought Lander and Ruha through the circle of tents, the women and the children stared at the small procession. The children’s eyes were round with curiosity, and they were plainly wondering why the pair of strangers was receiving so much attention. The expressions of the women, mostly hidden behind their veils, were harder to read. Their eyes betrayed both interest and fear, but Lander could not guess why the women were frightened.

The Harper noticed that everything in the camp seemed new and fresh. The khreimas had been recently colored with henna juice and other dyes. They were in such excellent repair that Lander guessed all the tents were newly made, which would only make sense if this was Sa’ar’s tribe. The Mahwa had lost all of their khreimas when they fled the Zhentarim at Colored Waters. He was surprised that they had recovered so quickly, however, and wondered if the other tribes had helped them. If so, that was a good sign, for it indicated that the Bedine were already working together.

The procession stopped in front of a large closed tent, around which were gathered dozens of mature warriors. Lander recognized Kabina and a few others from the Mahwa and Raz’hadi, but most of the faces were new to him. Their keffiyehs were decorated in the varying patterns popular in different tribes: red and white checks, solid browns or blacks, green stripes, and many more. Some even wore turbans.

Kabina waved the boys away, then regarded Lander and Ruha with a surly frown. No one said a word, and the gathering remained as silent as the Shoal of Thirst. From inside the tent came the scent of roasted meat and the quiet murmur of polite conversation. Lander’s mouth started watering, and he felt his knees grow weak. He took an absent-minded step toward the open khreima, but Kabina held up a restraining hand. “No,” he said. “The sheikhs are feasting.”

“Tell them we are here,” Ruha demanded. “We have had a long journey.” Her gaze was fixed on the tent, and the Harper could tell that the smell was having the same effect on her.

Kabina did not lower his hand. “They know,” he said.

They waited for several more minutes, straining in vain to hear the muffled words of the sheikhs. Lander had not expected Sa’ar to be overjoyed at seeing him and Ruha, but he had expected a more civil reception. He began to worry that the other sheikhs were resisting the agreement that Sa’ar and Utaiba had made regarding Ruha’s magic.

At last, Sa’ar stepped out of the tent, Utaiba and thirteen more sheikhs behind. “So, berrani, you dare set eyes on Elah’zad, the secret paradise of the Bedine?” He addressed Lander alone, ignoring the widow.

“I do,” Lander replied. He motioned to Ruha, who was still holding the djebiras containing the spellbook. “We have crossed the Shoal of Thirst and recovered the spellbook of Ruha’s mentor, and we have crossed it again to meet you here. Surely, the gods look well upon us.”

Sa’ar grunted an acknowledgement.

Ruha interrupted the conversation by sniffing loudly at the air. “What’s that peculiar odor?”

Utaiba frowned and stepped to Sa’ar’s side. “What odor?”

The widow stepped toward the khreima’s entrance. “It’s coming from in there,” she said, pointing at Sa’ar’s tent. “It smells like cooked meat. Perhaps we should go and eat it before something happens to it—though after ten days on the trail, I’d rather drink a bowl of warm camel’s blood.”

A chorus of laughter rustled through the warriors, and Lander could tell that every one of them had endured similar experiences.

Utaiba grinned sheepishly and laid a hand on Sa’ar’s shoulder. “We’ve forgotten your manners, my friend. Our guests must be fed.”

Sa’ar scowled in embarrassment. “Accept my apologies,” he said. “All I have is a big buck that my arrow downed yesterday. My wives have spent the morning basting it with honey and spices, but I’m sure it cannot compare to camel’s blood.”

Lander smiled, relieved that Ruha’s joke had lightened the atmosphere. He hoped the change of mood indicated that the cold reception did not mean the other sheikhs were opposing the agreement.

Sa’ar stepped aside, waving Lander and Ruha toward his tent. “Save some for Kadumi. I’m sure his palate is less demanding than yours.”

Lander stopped in his tracks, his hopeful mood deflated. “Kadumi won’t be coming.”

Sa’ar’s face fell. “I was hoping you had decided to leave him with the camels for some reason.”

“No,” Ruha said, stepping to Lander’s side. “He’s dead.”

“What happened?” demanded Utaiba.

“A Zhentarim assassin killed him,” Lander explained. “He died defending me.”

Sa’ar frowned, as did Utaiba and several other sheikhs. “An assassin?” he demanded. “How could he follow you across the Shoal of Thirst?”

“The Zhentarim can go wherever we can go,” Lander answered. “Don’t underestimate them.”

“You would have seen him from miles away,” Sa’ar protested.

“A party followed us for two days, then disappeared,” Ruha supplied. “Kadumi and I thought they had all turned back, but Lander kept glimpsing one who hadn’t. We didn’t believe him, and the assassin caught us at the Sister of Rains.”

“Surely you posted a watch?” asked a sheikh Lander did not know. The man had a heavy brow line and a sour expression.

“He used magic to make himself invisible,” Ruha replied.

The sour-faced sheikh rolled his eyes. “Invisible,” he scoffed. “Were you attacked by an assassin or a djinn?”

“The Zhentarim can do this, Sheikh Haushi,” Utaiba said. “Both Sa’ar and myself have seen it.”

Haushi shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

Lander took the assassin’s ring from his pocket and slipped it on. When he disappeared before their very eyes, both the warriors and the sheikhs gasped and stepped away, automatically reaching for their weapons.

The Harper removed the ring and held it up for the sheikhs to see. “Magic. With it, the Zhentarim can do many things you would think impossible.” The Harper turned to Sa’ar. “Kadumi’s death grieves us all,” he said, hoping to change the subject. “But Ruha and I have survived to bring magic to the Bedine. You conceded that we could only do this with the favor of the gods. Here we are. Will you honor your agreement?”

Sa’ar avoided Lander’s gaze, looking toward Utaiba. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”

“That does not change our agreement,” Ruha said.

Lander was surprised at how hard the widow was pressing the issue. Before Kadumi’s death, she had seemed more interested in joining him in Sembia than in working to save her people. Now, she appeared positively determined to drive the Zhentarim out of Anauroch.

It was Utaiba who finally answered Ruha. “As far as the Raz’hadi and the Mahwa are concerned, you have proven that the gods favor your magic,” the wiry sheikh said. “The other sheikhs are not yet convinced.”

“No doubt because you did not bother to tell them of our agreement,” Ruha observed.

“True,” Utaiba admitted.

“We have convinced all the sheikhs to take the matter before the Mother of the Waters,” Sa’ar added defensively. “We will take you and your spellbook to the House of the Moon.”

“We agreed to take Ruha’s magic only,” Haushi interrupted, pointing at the ring in Lander’s hand. “We said nothing of Zhentarim magic.”

“The ring is not important. Do with it what you will,” Lander said, holding it out to Haushi.

The sour-faced sheikh backed away as if the Harper were offering him the head of an asp. “I don’t want that thing!” he snapped, pointing at the lake. “Magic is for the gods!”

“As you wish,” Lander said, spinning toward the lake and throwing the ring as hard as he could. It landed two hundred yards from shore with a barely perceptible splash. “Now let us go to the House of the Moon!”

“You should eat first,” suggested Utaiba. “This could take some time.”

“We will eat later,” Ruha said, casting a hungry look in the direction of the roasted gazelle.

Lander also cast a longing glance at Sa’ar’s tent. As hungry as he was, it seemed more important to resolve the issue of whether or not Ruha’s magic would be accepted by the Bedine. “My stomach will wait,” he said. “The Zhentarim will not.”

“Then, by all means, let’s go to the House of the Moon,” Sa’ar said, motioning toward the lakeshore.

The sheikh led the way down to the lake. Two round boats, made by stretching camel hides over a wooden frame, lay beached on the shore. Sa’ar, Utaiba, Lander, Ruha, and two more sheikhs piled into one of the boats, and six sheikhs climbed into the other.

Paddling toward the small island in the middle of the lake, Lander realized that the tribesmen were not very good boat-makers. Water poured through the stitches, and the awkward craft rode low and clumsy. The Bedine showed no sign of anxiety, but the Harper was glad when they reached the grassy shore of the small island. Had either of the boats foundered, he was sure he would have been the only one who could swim.

The island was a small, grass-covered hill no more than a hundred yards across. The alabaster palace stood on top of the hill. Its three-quarter circle trapped At’ar’s light and cast it back with a silvery radiance that immediately struck Lander as unimaginably soft and peaceful. He could easily see why the Bedine had concluded Eldath inhabited the structure. If they were right, Lander hoped the goddess would favor them with a sign.

While two sheikhs returned across the lake to fetch the five who had been left behind, Lander and Ruha followed the others to the palace. When they reached it, a warm shiver of exhilaration ran down the Harper’s spine. The building was made of a chalky, translucent desert rock cut so thin that he could see the shapes of a throne and chairs through it.

The small company waited for a few others to cross the lake and join them, then entered the palace through a gracefully curved foyer. The short corridor had been carved from a single stone and shaped without any visible joints. It opened into a circular room, on the far side of which sat a huge throne gilded with hammered copper.

To each side, the throne was flanked by a row of stout chairs of darkly colored wood. The marble floor was so black that, if the chairs and throne had not been sitting upon it, Lander would have sworn it was a bottomless pit. The ceiling was a single slab of translucent rock. Through it filtered a light that bathed the room in warm radiance.

A tangible feeling of tranquility came over Lander, and he found himself bowing his head to Eldath. Simply entering the palace, it seemed to him, was worth missing the feast now languishing back in Sa’ar’s tent.

“I’ve never seen anything so magnificent,” the Harper said. “Who built it?”

The sheikhs shrugged.

“The House of Moon is as old as the gods. It was here before the Scattering.”

The words came from Ruha’s mouth, but the voice that spoke them did not belong to the widow. The sounds were almost a song, with a peaceful, soothing quality to them that Lander had never heard in any woman’s speech. The voice, which could only be described as higher than soprano, seemed to enter his head without passing through his ears.

“Eldath?” Lander gasped. He did not know whether he was hearing the goddess’s voice or the effects of one of Ruha’s spells.

“What magic is this?” demanded Haushi.

The widow glared at the astonished sheikh. “This is no magic,” she answered in the strange voice. She waved to the dark chairs, then sat in the copper-gilded throne herself. “There are sixteen chairs—fifteen for the sheikhs of the fifteen tribes that will fight the Zhentarim, one for the Harper who has risked his life to help you.”

When the stunned sheikhs did not move, Ruha-Eldath said, “You do not have much time, Sheikhs. The Zhentarim have made an alliance with the Ju’ur Dai, and even now the traitors are leading the Zhentarim into the hills guarding Elah’zad. Do you intend to make a battle plan or to let the invaders defile the Sacred Grove?”

The sharp words stunned the sheikhs and Lander into taking their seats, then Haushi asked, “What of Ruha’s magic?”

As the sheikh spoke, Ruha’s chin sank to her chest and she slumped down in the chair. Lander stood and rushed to the widow’s side and found her breathing in quick, shallow gasps. He tried to wake her, but she had fallen into a deep slumber that could not be disturbed.

“She seems to be sleeping,” Lander reported, though he could not say whether the sleep had been caused by the strain of serving as a goddess’s mouthpiece or by the effort required to cast some peculiar kind of magic he had never seen before.

Sa’ar said, “We have seen a sign from Eldath. Now we must do as the goddess asks and turn our thoughts to defeating our enemies.”

“How do we know the witch wasn’t using her magic to fool us?” demanded Haushi.

“Ruha couldn’t have known about the Ju’ur Dai and the Zhentarim’s location,” Utaiba replied. “Then, too, there is the furniture in which we sit—sixteen chairs for sixteen men. I, for one, believe it was Eldath who spoke to us.”

There was a general murmur of agreement, then Sa’ar said, “Lander, you know the Zhentarim best. What strategy do you suggest?”

Returning to his chair, the Harper asked, “How many warriors do we have?”

Utaiba was the first to answer. “The Raz’hadi have two hundred and fifty men who will die to drive the Zhentarim from our desert,” he said, proudly thumping himself on the chest.

Sa’ar spoke next. “Over one hundred Bait Mahwa have already died fighting the Zhentarim, and two hundred more are ready to join their brothers.”

A toothless sheikh wearing a black turban said, “We have one hundred and fifty warriors, all thirsting for the blood of the invaders.”

Lander held up a hand. “I meant to ask, how many warriors do we have all together?”

Utaiba and Sa’ar frowned, then Sa’ar said, “We are telling you. I have two hundred men.”

“I have two hundred and fifty,” Utaiba added.

“And we have one hundred and fifty,” repeated the toothless sheikh.

“Go on,” Lander said, nodding to the next sheikh and starting to add figures in his head. Before they could hope to match the coordination of the Zhentarim army, the Harper realized, the Bedine would have to adjust their way of thinking.

When the fifteen sheikhs had each listed the number of warriors in his tribe, Lander said, “We have a little less than three thousand warriors, about a thousand more than the Zhentarim. Is there any place we can get more?”

Utaiba answered. “We have sent riders to all the khowwans within a fortnight’s journey,” he said, waving his hand in all directions. “Their allies have not been attacked, so they can see no good in fighting the Zhentarim. The only tribes we can count on are those gathered at this oasis.”

“The others will change their minds when the asabis eat their sons and the Black Robes enslave their daughters,” Sa’ar growled.

“No doubt,” Utaiba agreed. “But for now, these tribes are all we have. Perhaps more will join us later.”

“Then I suggest you send your women and children to a safe place, along with a third of your warriors to protect them,” the Harper said. “If the Zhentarim realize that your families are unprotected, they will try to destroy them.”

“We will send our tribes north together,” Sa’ar said. “If we perish, or if the Zhentarim follow them, they will scatter. At most, the invaders will capture only a few hostages.”

The other sheikhs nodded their agreement, then Utaiba said, “We have made provisions for our families, but we still have not discussed the most important thing. What is the best way to attack the Zhentarim?” He looked to Lander, deferring to the Harper’s knowledge of the enemy.

Lander considered the question for a moment, then said, “We’ll have about the same number of men as the Zhentarim, counting their asabis. We should attack during the day, when the reptile mercenaries are burrowed beneath the sand. That way, we’ll have a numerical advantage. With luck, we’ll destroy the enemy in a single battle.”

Sa’ar smiled at the Harper. “We?” he said. “Are we to take it that you do not intend to be an observer in this battle?”

Resting his eyes on the widow’s sleeping form, Lander shook his head. “Where Ruha goes, I go,” he said. “If I hadn’t talked her into staying, she’d probably be in Sembia by now.”

To the Harper’s surprise, both Sa’ar and Utaiba greeted his comment with frowns, and the other sheikhs muttered in displeasure. It was Haushi, however, who voiced their concern. “What about the witch?”

From the murmur that rustled through the room, the Harper knew he had spoken the question on the mind of many of the other sheikhs.

“She’ll be coming with us, of course,” Lander said, glancing at Ruha’s inert form. “Providing she wakes up in time.”

“Of course, we’ve all agreed to that now,” said a wizened little man with a scraggly beard. “But where will she sleep? In your khreima?”

The question caught Lander off guard, and he had to pause for a moment to consider it. After reflecting on the interrogation the sheikhs’ had given him when he reported the news of Kadumi’s death, as well as the suspicious looks of the boys who had come to take care of their camels, Lander thought he understood the source of the trouble.

Deciding to get right to the heart of the matter, he said, “If you think I had something to do with Kadumi’s death, I don’t see that I can do anything—”

Sa’ar interrupted, saying, “What passed between you and Kadumi is not our affair. If you killed him, I’m sure that he deserved it.”

“I didn’t kill him!” Lander said. “It was a Zhentarim assassin!”

“Whatever,” Utaiba answered. “It doesn’t matter. Nobody here is related to the boy, so there’ll be no blood price.”

Lander could only shake his head. He did not know whether he should be upset at having been accused of killing the boy—if that was what the sheikhs were implying—or at the casualness with which they were willing to dismiss the murder. To make matters worse, he realized that he did not have any idea of what was upsetting the sheikhs. “If nobody cares about Kadumi, what’s the matter?”

Sa’ar pointed at Ruha, then at Lander. “Her,” the sheikh said, “and you.”

“It’s wrong to bed a widow while her husband’s spirit is still restless,” said the toothless sheikh. “You’ll bring N’asr’s plague down on us.”

Lander studied Ruha’s sleeping form. The sheikhs’ assumptions regarding what had passed between him and the widow upset him more than they should have—in part, he knew, because they had read so well what he felt in his heart. “How long does it take to calm a husband’s spirit?”

“Two years,” answered Haushi. “If you sleep with her before then, you will curse us all.”

The Harper rose and walked over to the copper-gilded throne. Standing opposite Ruha, he said, “Then I’ll wait.”

“Have you bedded her yet?” Utaiba asked.

Lander did not look away from the widow. “No.”

“Then it is decided!” Sa’ar exclaimed, rising. He pulled his jambiya and stepped to the middle of the room. “Let us swear an akeud! Victory or defeat, let us find it together!”

The burly sheikh drew the blade across his palm, then held up his hand so the others could inspect the dripping wound. As the blood touched the floor, it vanished into the black marble.