The Parched Sea

Nineteen

The Bedine were ready to attack. At’ar had just shown her flaxen orb above the horizon, and the goddess’s amber light was creeping across the saffron desert. Orofin was surrounded by a dozen tribes, each clustered tightly about its sheikh and waiting two hundred and fifty yards from the fortress’s dark walls. Most of the warriors were mounted on their camels, waiting directly in front of the breach they had been assigned to attack.

Two of the tribes were not mounted, however. The khowwans of Utaiba and Didaji waited behind the other tribes on opposite sides of the fortress, their warriors standing next to their camels with impatient expressions on their faces. These two tribes were being held in reserve. They would not join the battle until the Zhentarim began to crumble. Only then would they charge the weak spot. The invaders would either have to respond by drawing their own reserves away from the secret tunnel, or risk having the Bedine punch a hole in their defenses. It was a nuance of the plan that the sheikhs had not originally explained to Ruha, but one of which she thoroughly approved.

Sa’ar and his tribe, along with the Bai Kabor and their sheikh, were hiding near the tunnel mouth where the Zhentarim could not see them. They would not move from their hiding places until Sa’ar’s observers reported that both Utaiba and Didaji had lead their tribes into battle.

Atop a small hill overlooking Orofin’s fortifications, Ruha sat on her camel next to Yatagan, the toothless sheikh of the Shremala. With them was Utaiba, for his Raz’hadi were standing in reserve behind the Shremala. When the fighting started, Ruha would stay with Utaiba and the Raz’hadi. In their final pre-battle conference, the sheikhs had all agreed that it would be wiser to see what surprises the Zhentarim had for them before committing their witch to battle.

Ruha was shivering, for she was dressed only in Lander’s aba and keffiyeh. Fearing that there would be no chance to remove a jellaba after the battle began, the widow had elected to endure the early morning chill in dress that would be appropriate for later in the day. Utaiba, however, sat huddled deep within his heavy jellaba, and Yatagan wore one of the heavy night furs of his tribe over both shoulders. The toothless sheikh was holding his camel’s reins taut to keep the spirited beast from capering.

In contrast to those around her, Ruha felt eerily calm. She had no idea whether she or any of the Bedine would live to see dusk. Still, she was not afraid and felt no apprehension about what lay ahead. It seemed as if someone else were riding the Harper’s mount, preparing to join the charge that would result in a thousand deaths.

Yatagan leaned toward Ruha, then motioned at an empty camel behind her. “Unless the witch sees some reason to wait, I will signal the others to start the attack.”

Yatagan did not really believe that Ruha was sitting invisible on the empty mount. Like the other sheikhs, he knew that the witch had taken Lander’s face in order to keep the men from learning of the Harper’s death. He was simply playing out his part of a little charade Utaiba had proposed.

Realizing that the warriors would wonder where the witch was, the wiry sheikh had suggested that Ruha lead an empty camel behind hers. Yatagan would pretend that the widow was invisible, and Ruha-Lander would explain that the witch’s beast had to be led so she could have both hands free to work her magic during the battle. Once Ruha began using her magic, Utaiba also hoped that the warriors would assume that it was the invisible witch who was casting spells, instead of “Lander.”

It was a complicated scheme, but so far it was working. The warriors knew nothing about magic, so they were perfectly willing to believe that the witch had turned herself invisible. Ruha had suggested it might simplify things for her to assume her own identity and claim that Lander was invisible, but the sheikhs had all feared that the men would find it much easier to believe that a witch had turned herself invisible rather than someone else.

Realizing that Yatagan was still waiting for her response, Ruha nodded and said, “We’re both ready, Yatagan. Victory or death!” The sound of Lander’s voice issuing from her throat made the young widow feel even more distant from the events that were about to occur.

The wizened sheikh lifted his amarat and sounded a long, piercing tone. An apprehensive flurry rustled the Shremala warriors as they stretched their cold-stiffened arms and shifted their quivers into more accessible positions. Nine distant amarats trumpeted an answer to Yatagan, and Ruha knew the other khowwans were ready.

Yatagan raised his horn to his lips again and blasted a long, trilling note. The sheikh’s mount danced in anticipation, then Yatagan lowered his horn and led his khowwan down the hill into battle.

A short time later, black slivers began to fly back and forth between the Shremala and the defenders lurking behind the fortifications on the wall. The other tribes were too distant for Ruha to tell if they were also coming under fire, but she assumed that they were. Fortunately, though a man fell from his camel every now and then, the Zhentarim arrows were having little effect on the charge.

The Shremala continued forward beneath the black rain, driving strait for a ten-foot breach in Orofin’s fortifications. When the tribe closed to within fifty yards of the wall, silver gleams began to flash from the front of the charge, and Ruha knew the first ranks had drawn their scimitars in anticipation of hand-to-hand fighting.

As the Shremala approached the breach, a half-dozen tiny, black-robed figures rose from behind the wall’s crenelations. At first Ruha could not tell what they were doing, but then they heaved several bundles onto the top of the wall and emptied the contents over the side. Just as the first Bedine warriors reached the breach, dozens of melon-sized rocks poured out of the bundles and clattered down on them. A muffled crash rolled across the empty ground between Orofin and the hill upon which Ruha and Utaiba waited.

The hail of rubble stopped the attack, knocking more than two dozen warriors from their saddles and littering the ground in front of the breach with bodies. The rear ranks of the charge pulled up short, spraying the top of the fortifications with arrows while a half-dozen of their un-mounted companions rushed back to their ranks.

One of the figures stopped a few paces in front of the others, then waved his scimitar toward the gap. Two dozen men immediately slipped off their camel’s backs and followed him toward the breach, drawing their own blades. The rest of the tribe remained in place, firing arrows at the top of the wall or into the fortress itself.

When the running figures began to pick their way through the rubble in front of the breach, a flurry of arrows streaked from the gap. The men on foot fell in their tracks, then a handful of Zhentarim filled the breach and began firing arrows at the warriors who were still mounted. Soon, more Black Robes appeared along the top of the wall, and the Shremala had to fall back and trade arrows with the Zhentarim from longer range.

Ruha scanned the other breaches at which Bedine were attacking and saw a similar situation at each of them. “Idiots!” the widow cursed, slapping her thigh.

“Not at all,” Utaiba objected, scowling. “Our warriors are dying bravely.”

“Not them!” the witch snapped, looking toward the sheikh. “Us. We should have expected this! If La—” She stopped herself from saying the Harper’s name in midsentence and finished instead by saying, “I should have known they’d have more than one way to defend the walls.”

Utaiba nodded sadly, his eyes betraying his own regret. “We can’t blame ourselves,” he whispered. “When have any of us ever stormed a fort? The important thing to do now is deal with this tactic.”

Ruha nodded, but did not answer. She was trying to think of a way to protect the warriors from the rubble showers. An overhead shelter would protect the Bedine warriors, allowing them to mass in front of the breaches and match the Zhentarim’s firepower. Unfortunately, they had neither the materials nor the time to build such shelters. Yet, she knew that if the sheikh’s plan was to succeed, the Bedine had to maintain the attacks on the breaches.

After a few moments of studying Orofin’s walls, Ruha’s good eye settled on a three hundred-foot section of unbroken wall. Apparently the Zhentarim were not concerned about defending that section, for there were only four men along the entire stretch. The thing the widow liked best about this particular length of wall, however, was that there was a small sand dune standing ten yards in front of it.

Ruha turned to Utaiba. “Our warriors must stop wasting their arrows by firing blindly into the fortress. Instead, each tribe should put its twenty best archers in front of the breach. Everybody else must give their quivers to the archers, who are to fire at anybody moving along the rampart, but only if they have a good target.”

“That is madness,” Utaiba answered, shaking his head. “With so few archers, the enemy will mass his own bowmen on the walls and pick us off like gazelles.”

“No they won’t,” Ruha countered. “Not if they’re too busy defending the breaches against the others. The rest of the warriors are to draw their scimitars and rush the breaches, but they mustn’t mass together. Tell them to spread out along the base of the wall, at least three feet apart. They should slip into the gaps one at a time, and they must die rather than retreat.”

Utaiba frowned. “What will this accomplish?”

“By not massing together, the warriors will prevent the Zhentarim from dumping rubble on them—or at least keep that tactic from being very effective when they use it. Our archers will keep some of the Zhentarim occupied and pinned behind their fortifications, preventing them from leaning over the top of the wall to shoot at our men along the base.”

“And the attacks against the breaches? Do you think this will prove more successful than what we’re already doing?”

Ruha shrugged. “I don’t think it will be any less successful, but the main purpose of those attacks is to keep the Zhentarim inside the fort busy. When you and I lead the Raz’hadi into Orofin, we’ll want to have as many of the Black Robes as possible thinking about other things.”

Utaiba raised his eyebrow, interested but still puzzled. “And how is my tribe going to get through a breach when no one else can do it?”

The widow turned Lander’s manly lips into a confident smile, then gestured toward the empty camel at her side. “Ruha is going to make a new breach for us—one the Zhentarim won’t be able to defend.”

Utaiba looked doubtful. “I don’t remember Ruha describing any spell that could knock a hole in Orofin’s walls.”

“She has thought of a new way to use her magic,” Ruha replied, pointing to the stretch of unbroken wall she had selected for her plan. “That part of the fort is manned by only four sentries. Ruha can use her magic to punch a hole through it. If the Raz’hadi move quickly, they will be into Orofin before the Zhentarim realize what has happened.”

A careful smile creased the wiry sheikh’s lips. “The witch is sure she can open a gap in that wall?”

“There is some risk, but she thinks her spell will have the power. It’s certainly worth a try. If it doesn’t work, all we have to do is turn around and ride away.”

Utaiba nodded. “If I understood magic better, I would ask for more of an explanation. For now, however, I will have to trust that the gods knew what they were doing when they sent the witch to us.”

The sheikh summoned ten messengers, then sent them to the other sheikhs with Ruha’s suggestion. After the riders were gone, Utaiba turned his camel toward his men, calling, “It is time for the Raz’hadi to mount!” he commanded. “We ride to glory!”

The warriors cheered in enthusiasm, then did as their sheikh ordered. Ruha led Utaiba and his warriors a quarter-mile to the west, stopping in front of the unbroken stretch of wall. They were still over two hundred yards from Orofin, so the widow could not see if the Raz’hadi’s shift of position concerned the four Zhentarim guards. It was a good sign, however, that no additional Black Robes were appearing atop the wall. Apparently the enemy still believed this section of the fort was secure.

“Now what?” asked Utaiba. “Do we fly over the wall?”

“No,” Ruha answered, laying her reins across her lap. “We ride through it.”

“Ride through it?” he said.

Ruha nodded, then pointed at the dune standing between them and the wall. “There.”

“Over the dune?” Utaiba asked.

“The dune will be gone when we get there,” Ruha answered. “Tell your men that the witch is casting a spell. They are to follow us—no matter what.”

As Utaiba passed on the order, the witch prepared her spell. Keeping her back to the warriors, she took a small pouch from her robes, then withdrew a pinch of glittering white sand and packed it between her lower lip and teeth. It had a bitter, acrid taste that made her want to spit.

When the sheikh finished his orders and looked back to Ruha, she asked, “Are you ready?”

He drew his scimitar. “Through the wall?”

Ruha nodded. “Like the wind,” she mumbled.

After whispering her incantation, the witch spit out the sand. Instead of falling to the ground, it streaked toward the wall with gathering momentum. As it picked up speed, the small torrent of sand gathered more particles. After flying twenty yards, the stream had become a raging river of tiny granules.

“What are you waiting for?” Ruha cried, pointing at the spell. “Follow it!”

His mouth hanging agape, Utaiba turned his mount toward the wall and urged it into a full gallop. Ruha did likewise, and then she heard the Raz’hadi voicing their war cries as the rest of the tribe joined the charge.

As they raced forward, Ruha watched the four sentries scurry back and forth along the wall, trying to summon help. They were too late. By the time the Zhentarim could organize a response, the Raz’hadi would be inside Orofin.

The stream of sand crossed the dune in front of the unbroken stretch of wall. The mound exploded with a ferocity that surprised even Ruha, causing a howl that echoed across the desert like the cry of Kozah himself. In an instant, the spell sucked up the entire dune and hurled it against the fortress, blasting a hole ten feet in diameter through the wall’s glazed mudbricks. The four sentries abandoned their posts and fled along the ramparts.

As Utaiba passed the place where the sand dune had been, he looked over his shoulder with a triumphant grin, screaming wildly as a cloud of brick dust and sand billowed out of the newly opened breach to engulf him. The witch rode into the gray boil an instant after Utaiba. It was only then that she realized there had been a flaw in her plan.

The silt filled her nose and throat so thickly that she felt like she had ridded into a bed of quicksand. The sand grains stung her eyes and forced her to close them, not that it mattered. Even if she had possessed the long thick eyelashes that enabled camels to see in sandstorms, she could not have seen past her mount’s head, much less guided it through the breach. Instead, the widow simply folded herself flat against her mount’s back and trusted the beast to find its own way, hoping that the riderless camel still tethered behind her would follow.

Despite the certainty of facing combat if she made it successfully into Orofin, Ruha did not bother drawing Lander’s saber. She wore the Harper’s face, but that did not mean she possessed his skill with the sword. The long blade would only get her into trouble. Instead she placed a hand on the hilt of her jambiya, ready to draw it if need be, but equally prepared to cast a spell.

The sand stopped stinging Ruha’s face, and muffled shouts of alarm drifted to her from directly ahead. Realizing that her camel had found the breach, she opened her eyes. Utaiba’s mount was directly in front of her, charging out of the other end of the hole, a full fifteen feet ahead. As she watched, the beast bowled over a Zhentarim and bolted into the courtyard beyond.

The widow reached the end of the little tunnel a second later. A pair of Zhentarim lay directly in front of the breach, the skin stripped off their bodies by the final blast of her magical sand stream. Ruha’s mount and the riderless beast behind it jumped the corpses, then the witch guided them a few paces to the right and reined them to a halt out of the way of the warriors that she hoped would soon be pouring into the fort.

The interior of Orofin was anything but the mass of confusion Ruha had expected. The fortress was about fifty yards across, with the ruins of buildings hugging the walls. Orofin’s artesian well sat in the center of the courtyard, it’s bubbling waters filling a square basin. On each of the basin’s four sides, a small spout emptied into a water duct. Protected by a rusty steel grating, these ducts ran to the edges of the fort, each emptying into a shallow pool that fed the canals outside the fort.

Next to each pool rose a staircase that led to the ramparts. At the top of these staircases, the Zhentarim had made huge stacks of rubble, and a steady stream of black-robed men were carrying the deadly packages to locations above the breaches that the Bedine were attacking. There they passed the bundles to men standing over the breach, who would in turn drop them onto the warriors below. To both sides of these men stood archers, who were returning the fire of the Bedine bowmen. Ruha guessed that about half of the Zhentarim force, between four and five hundred men, were engaged along the walls.

At the bottom of the wall, in each of the ten breaches that the sheikhs had selected for the attack, half-a-dozen Zhentarim armed with swords, daggers, and spears were fighting Bedine warriors. Behind them stood two dozen reinforcements, ready to take the place of any black-robed fighter who fell. Another ten to fifteen men waited in the ruins to either side of the various melees just in case any Bedine did manage to break through.

Utaiba had already ridden his camel into the midst of one of these Zhentarim companies and dropped his reins. The sheikh was slashing at crossbowmen while his mount kicked and bit at the astonished reinforcements. Ruha caught a glimpse of the animal’s eyes, and it seemed to her the beast was enjoying the fight as much as his rider. She searched her mind briefly for a way to aid the sheikh, then realized that any spell she cast into the melee stood as much chance of killing Utaiba as the enemy. Besides, from the looks of things, it appeared the wiry sheikh and his camel were a fine match for the shocked Black Robes.

The widow continued her survey without seeing any sign of the Zhentarim she wanted to find most: Yhekal. As the invaders’ leader, Ruha felt certain that the white-haired man had sent Bhadla to kill Lander, as well as the assassin that had tracked them to the Sister of Rains and killed Kadumi. If the Bedine accomplished nothing else by storming Orofin, she was determined to see him die.

Vengeance was not her only reason for looking for Yhekal. Ruha knew that the Zhentarim leader had used magic to enthrall her father, and she had no doubt that he could use it for other purposes as well. The sooner she eliminated him, the more likely a final Bedine victory became.

As her one uncovered eye searched for Yhekal, Ruha was surprised at how quiet the interior of Orofin seemed. Upon breaking through the fortifications, she had expected to meet a wall of arrows and a host of flashing blades. Instead, with the Zhentarim busy at the breaches the Bedine had originally attacked, the courtyard was empty, and no one came to defend the newly opened breach.

The widow doubted that the calm would last for long. Even now, the sentries who had been guarding this section of wall were probably alerting their superiors to the breakthrough. Regardless of where Yhekal was hiding, Ruha had to take advantage of the Zhentarim’s temporary shock and open the way for more Bedine to enter Orofin.

She pulled a yellow ball of gum from her pocket and summoned an incantation to mind. She was no longer concerned about being observed using magic. In the heat of the battle, she did not think any warriors would see her casting a spell. Even if a few of them did, they would be too busy fighting to gossip with their fellows or wonder why Lander was acting so strangely.

The witch threw the sticky glob at the nearest company of Zhentarim. A sphere of orange flame erupted in the ruins and spewed into the breach the Black Robes had been defending. A few agonized cries rang from the hole, but most of the men simply turned to ash without a sound.

Ruha watched the smoking gap for what seemed like ages. A few charred Zhentarim staggered out of the ruins, moaning in agony and stumbling a few steps into the courtyard before they died. No Bedine warriors followed them from the blackened hole.

“What now, Lander?”

The voice startled Ruha. Drawing her jambiya, she whirled around to see a Raz’hadi warrior at her side. Behind him were two dozen more.

“Where is the rest of your tribe?” Ruha asked, frowning at the small number warriors with the man.

The warrior shrugged. “The dust was very thick. I heard many men scream as their camels hit the wall instead of running into the breach. I am sure that those who can will follow soon.”

“Let’s hope so.” Ruha pointed at Utaiba, who was still waging his solo battle—and beginning to lose. Several Zhentarim swordsmen had finally surrounded him and his ferocious camel. “Your sheikh could use some help opening that gap.”

Ruha had no sooner pointed out Utaiba’s position than the alarmed warriors gave a war cry and rode off to aid their leader. The witch looked back toward the charred ruins she had just cleared with her fireball. There was still no sign of any Bedine coming through, so she rode to the breach. When she looked into the narrow crack, she saw a nervous Bedine peering through it from the other side.

The warrior dropped his jaw in shock. “Lander?”

“Come on!” Ruha snapped. “The way will never be more clear.”

A look of chagrin crossed the man’s face, then he turned and waved to the men behind him, screaming, “Follow me, Binwabi warriors!” A moment later, nearly a hundred Binwabi were pouring through the breach.

The witch heard the clacking of crossbows behind her. A dozen black bolts flashed past her, and Ruha lashed her camel with its reins, urging the beast to move quickly. She expected to feel the sharp pain of a steel shank any moment. Instead, the camel tethered behind hers roared in agony. Its knees buckled and it collapsed, causing the widow’s mount to stumble as it tried to obey her command.

The beast fell, and Ruha jumped clear, landing in the charred remains of the Zhentarim who had fallen prey to her fireball. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw several Binwabi warriors also take shelter in the ruins. The one who had led the way through the gap yelled, “Send a runner to fetch our bowmen!”

Keeping her head low, Ruha spun around to face the attack. A few yards away, two dozen Zhentarim armed with crossbows were taking positions behind the fountain in the middle of the square. Behind them, a steady stream of Black Robes armed with sabers were charging out of a cellar to meet the Bedine breakthrough. With this second group came a man wearing a deep purple robe and silver wrist bracers. His hair and skin were as pale as salt, and his eyes were as blue as the sky.

“Yhekal!” Ruha whispered. Instantly she realized that he and the men with him were the reinforcements Sa’ar and Utaiba had predicted would be guarding the tunnel.

The pale-skinned invader stepped over to the crossbowmen and pointed at the camel Ruha had been leading behind her mount. “The witch is under the protection of the gold-haired berrani,” he said. “She may even be invisible. Keep the Harper pinned down, and I will flush her out!”

While his men fired blindly in the general direction of the fallen camel Ruha-Lander had been riding, Yhekal stood at the edge of the fountain and began to chant. Several Binwabi warriors, fearful of the enemy’s magic, rose from behind their cover and started to run, but their flight was cut short by the enemy’s crossbows.

Ruha crouched in the ruins and collected a handful of small stones. A couple of stray quarrels passed over her head, then the Zhentarim leader completed his spell.

The blackness in Ruha’s left eye changed to a milky blur, then light began to seep in around the edges of the patch. The widow ran a hand over her face, and when it touched smooth skin instead of Lander’s rough beard stubble, she realized that Yhekal had dispelled her magical disguise. Ripping the patch off her eye with her free hand, Ruha muttered her own incantation and held the stones she had collected up toward the sun. As she completed the spell, they started to glow with a fiery red.

Peering over the top of the ruin, Ruha saw that the Zhentarim crossbowmen were busy reloading their weapons. Yhekal’s blue eyes were fixed on the rubble, and his brow was furrowed in an angry frown, Behind the mage, the last of the Zhentarim reinforcements had finally left the cellar and were rushing to meet a steady flow of Raz’hadi pouring through the breach Ruha had created.

The witch stood, raising her hand to throw the glowing stones. Yhekal’s gaze shifted to her face, and the crossbowmen stared at her with slack jaws.

“You!” snarled the Zhentarim leader. “Where is the Harper?”

Ruha did not give him the satisfaction of an answer. She threw the glowing stones in his direction, then dropped back into the rubble before a crossbowman could bring his weapon to bear on her.

The stones streaked straight at Yhekal, picking up speed and trailing flame. The Zhentarim leader’s eyes widened in fear, then he dived for the well at his side.

The mage was far too slow. As he stretched out over the pool, the stones struck him square in side. He screamed in searing pain and splashed into the water head first. There was a loud hiss, then a column of vapor began billowing out of the basin.

When one of the Zhentarim warriors pulled his commander out of the pool and laid him out next to the basin, Ruha smiled. Yhekal did not move or even groan, and she could still see the sun stones glowing in the charred wound. Even if the assault on Orofin failed now, she would count it at least a partial victory. With that single spell, she had avenged the deaths of her husband, her father, her brother-in-law, and her lover.

The Binwabi warrior who had called for the archers leaped into the ruin at Ruha’s side. Studying the woman’s unveiled visage, he asked, “What magic is this, witch? What did you do with Lander?”

The invaders’ crossbows clacked again. Both Ruha and the warrior ducked as bolts streaked over their heads, then the widow instinctively tried to cover her face. When her hand found no veil, Ruha blushed, then she reminded herself that the women in Sembia never covered their faces.

“Where Lander is at the moment is not important,” she said, meeting the warrior’s gaze directly. “What is important is destroying the Zhentarim. Tell your men to prepare for a charge.”

The Binwabi would not be sidetracked so easily. “Have you hidden the berrani from the Black Robes?”

Before Ruha had to answer, an amarat sounded from the other side of the courtyard and a Bedine voice cried, “Death to the invaders!”

Ruha’s heart leaped for joy. She peered over the edge of the ruins and saw a mass of warriors charging out of the same cellar from which Yhekal had entered the courtyard. It could only be the two tribes that had been assigned to come through the tunnel. The sheikhs’ plan had worked. Soon there would be three hundred Bedine warriors inside Orofin, and the invaders would be caught between the hammer and the anvil.

The Zhentarim who had been pinning Ruha and the Binwabi in the ruins turned to meet the charge. They fired their crossbows once, then threw them aside to draw their sabers. Ruha drew her jambiya and stood. Ignoring the warrior at her side, she looked to the other Bedine lurking in the ruins and pouring through the breach.

“Death to the Black Robes!” she cried, turning toward the fight.

“Death to the invaders!” cried dozens of voices.

Ruha led the Binwabi rush. The courtyard began to ring with the chime of steel-on-steel, and the shrill cries of the wounded and the dying echoed off the ancient bricks. The Zhentarim at the walls joined the desperate battle in the courtyard. When they left their posts, more Bedine tribes broke through the breaches and poured into the fort. Some entered the fight in the courtyard. Others rushed to the gaps that the Black Robes still controlled. Soon, there was not a corner of the ancient fort that did not resound with the clang of clashing swords and not a square yard of ground that was not stained by blood.

For Ruha, the battle became a hazy maelstrom of confused violence. She stabbed anyone wearing a black robe and sliced at any throat swaddled by a black turban. Twice, she was nearly slain. The first time, as she sidestepped a clumsy lunge, the Zhentarim grabbed her throat with his free hand and nearly crushed her larynx. She escaped only by driving her jambiya deep into the man’s midsection and slicing his belly open with sharp curve of her blade. The second time, the invader took her by surprise, and his saber flashed toward her head almost before she realized he was there. She threw herself to the ground and slashed his legs as she rolled away. Screaming, the man dropped his sword and fell. Ruha finished him by opening a vein in his throat, then returned to her feet.

Everywhere the witch looked, steel blades were ringing against each other, men were lying on the ground clutching their wounds, Bedine and Zhentarim were cursing, slashing, stabbing, even kicking and wrestling. Ruha helped when she could, but most often she was too busy dodging wild swings or parrying blades herself to do much for anyone else.

At last the fighting began to grow less desperate. The angry screams of the Zhentarim changed to cries of panic and appeals for mercy. The maelstrom in the square thinned as the Bedine warriors trapped the Black Robes in the crumbling corners of collapsed buildings or followed them out of the gaps in the wall.

When their were no more Zhentarim to kill, the widow stood in a daze, barely hearing the moans of the wounded and only half-aware of Lander’s blood-soaked aba hanging so heavily on her shoulders. The heat of battle slowly drained from her body, leaving her legs numb and weak, her hands trembling with nervous exhaustion. So many corpses littered the square that a camel could not have picked its way from one side to the other without stumbling, and the dusty ground had been turned to mud by all the blood spilled upon it.

“Here you are,” said a familiar voice. “I was afraid something had happened to you.”

Ruha looked up and saw Sa’ar’s burly form approaching from the direction of the fountain. In one hand he held a full waterskin and in the other a scimitar dripping red.

He gestured at Ruha’s bloody robe. “I hope none of that is yours.”

The widow shook her head. “I am unhurt.”

“Good. I fear the gods would not forgive me if I had allowed anything to happen to their gift.”

Ruha felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Coming from Sa’ar, the comment almost seemed like flattery. She wondered if he meant it that way, or if the exhilaration of victory was loosening his tongue.

Sa’ar passed the waterskin to the witch, paying no regard to her uncovered face. “Drink.”

Ruha accepted the skin. She had not realized how thirsty the battle had left her, and the water tasted as sweet as honey and as cool as a night rain. She swallowed a few long gulps, then said, “That’s the best water I’ve ever tasted.”

“You don’t realize how precious something is until you fight for it,” Sa’ar agreed. He studied the ground for several moments, then lifted his gaze and looked into Ruha’s eyes. “If the Black Robes come back to the desert, I’d like to think you’ll be with my tribe to show them that this place is not for their kind.”

Ruha returned the sheikh’s waterskin. “I will,” she answered, giving him a melancholy but sincere smile. The dreamlike images of lush, green Sembia that haunted the back of her mind faded like a mirage under At’ar’s burning brilliance. “Where else do I have to go?”