The Parched Sea

Eighteen

Ruha heard two warriors rush through the entrance of the khreima. The young witch did not 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 widow 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.”

Sa’ar’s concerned voice sounded at her tent entrance. “Ruha, Lander!” he cried, bustling into the tent. “The warriors say there was a stream of fire and—”

The burly sheikh stopped next to Ruha and stared at Lander’s lifeless face. Utaiba entered a few steps behind him, but Sa’ar quickly turned to him. “Something terrible has happened.”

Utaiba reactions were quick. He turned to the men following him. “Post a guard. Nobody is to enter this khreima,” he said. “Not even another sheikh. If anybody asks why—”

“Tell them I am preparing my magic and it is very dangerous,” Ruha called.

The warriors turned to obey, then Utaiba stepped to Sa’ar’s side. The two sheikhs stood next to each other, staring at Lander’s body with rueful expressions on their faces. Ruha could not tell whether they were angry or despondent, but she had no doubt that they were shocked. Neither of them said a word or looked at Ruha, nor did they show any sign of grief.

Finally Sa’ar reached down and pulled Ruha’s veil across her face, tucking it into her headwrap. “I suspect that the Zhentarim did not uncover your face, any more than they removed Lander’s sword belt from his waist,” the sheikh said.

Ruha did not bother to deny his charge. Though she held it in her hands, she had not yet wrapped her own belt around her aba, and it was obvious that neither she nor Lander had been fully dressed when the assassins entered her khreima.

Utaiba said, “You have cursed us all!”

“It was not my love that poisoned Lander,” Ruha snapped, wrapping her belt around her waist. “It was the laziness of your sentries!” She pointed at the assassins she had killed with her fire stream. “How did so many Zhentarim escape Orofin?”

“When you and Lander broke the widow’s taboo, your husband’s spirit made them invisible,” Sa’ar answered confidently.

“As you can see, they were not invisible when they reached us,” Ruha countered. “Do not ascribe your men’s ineptitude to spirits!”

Sa’ar’s face clouded over with anger, and his jaw slackened in astonishment. “How dare you blame us!” he snapped. “The Bedine will pay the price for your lust! You and Lander caused this tragedy, no one else.”

“We caused nothing,” Ruha cried, still kneeling next to Lander’s body. “We loved each other, and not even Ajaman’s spirit would begrudge us that. But you are ready to forsake the man who risked his life to warn you of the Zhentarim in the first place! I wish I were a djinn! I would lay a curse on all of you!”

“Perhaps you are a djinn,” Sa’ar retorted, reaching for his jambiya.

In an instant, Ruha pointed a hand at the sheikh and summoned an incantation. “If you draw your weapon against me before Lander is washed and buried, I will burn even your bones to ashes.”

Sa’ar stopped, then glanced at the Zhentarim whom Ruha had charred earlier. At the same time, he did not push his dagger back into its scabbard, for he was not the kind of man to back down from any confrontation.

“What shall it be?” Ruha asked, her fingers already rehearsing the spell gestures.

“It makes no difference,” Sa’ar replied, growling. “I can die of fire tonight or thirst tomorrow.”

Utaiba stepped between the angry pair. “Do not violate your host duty by threatening the beloved of your guest,” the sheikh said, gently laying a hand on Sa’ar’s and pushing the jambiya back into its scabbard. Next he turned to Ruha. “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.

Ruha considered the two sheikhs for few more moments, then said, “Utaiba, would you bring me Lander’s djebkas?” When a scowl flashed across the wiry sheikh’s face, Ruha quickly added, “I’d ask you to send a guard, but he would gossip, and that’s the last thing we need right now.”

The frown disappeared from the man’s face, and he nodded. “Of course, you are right. I will be back soon.”

While Utaiba fetched Lander’s belongings, Sa’ar pushed the scorched remains of the Zhentarim assassins out the gap they had sliced in the khreima, then returned and carried away Bhadla’s spindly body. The young widow spent 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 is—”

“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 Utaiba 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 if we can lull 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.”

“When we make no effort to utilize the tunnel and our attacks on the breaches begin to threaten the fortress, the Zhentarim will have to decide whether to use the men guarding the tunnel to reinforce the walls, or to leave them in place to guard against an attack that might or might not come,” Utaiba expounded, speaking as eagerly as Sa’ar. “If they leave the tunnel guards in place, then there will be fewer men fighting at the walls, and that is good. But if they move the guards to the wall—”

“Then it will be better. We will send the last two tribes down the tunnel to attack from inside Orofin,” Sa’ar declared. “They will be caught between the anvil and the hammer, as you—er, Lander—would say.”

Ruha considered the plan for several moments, then nodded. “I like it,” she said. “But everything depends on how well we can press the attack against the breaches. I assume that is where you plan to use my magic?”

“It is the most dangerous place—”

“I have faced danger before, Utaiba,” Ruha replied curtly. “Or have you forgotten?”

“We haven’t forgotten,” Sa’ar said. “But with your magic, we thought you might be more useful attacking from inside Orofin.”

“If the attack on the breaches goes poorly, then nobody will attack from inside the fortress,” Ruha countered. “There is a more important consideration, though. If the warriors are to fight with all their spirit and not worry about bad omens, they must see Lander in the vanguard.”

Utaiba nodded thoughtfully. “And so must the Zhentarim,” he agreed. “Otherwise, they’ll worry about where the Harper is, and then they won’t abandon the tunnel.”

Sa’ar regarded the pair for several moments, then finally nodded his accord. “If that is what you think best, then it is decided. Let us go outside and prepare the warriors.”