D & D - Red Sands (10 page)

"It is true, Yali. May flies infest his nostrils! For all I know, I am the only Sudiin on the desert now."

Mit'ai held out the cup. Jadira took it and drank. There was more than water in it; strong-sweet wine flowed down her throat and splashed warmly into her empty stomach.

"A tribeless woman," said Mit'ai. "A Sudiin without Sudiin. Is this the kindness of the gods, that they allow the pig-eating sultan to sweep an entire tribe off the Red Sands?"

She gave him back his cup. "I cannot say, Yali. The gods were kind enough to grant me escape from the sultan's own dungeon. I am here with four others, all fugitives from Faziri tyranny."

"You escaped from Omerabad? This tale I must hear. You will come to my circle tonight, Jadira
sed
Ifrimiya."

She touched her forehead in agreement. "With my companions?"

"Yes, bring them all. Such a band of worthies should be feasted for their deeds," said the chieftain.

"Thank you, Yali. Mitaali bless your generosity."

Mit'ai waddled to his mount. The short-legged pony had extra long stirrups to allow the little chief to gain his saddle unaided. Swinging up, Yali Mit'ai tossed his silver cup to one of his many sons.

"One notch after sunset, you will come," he said. He reined about and led the shouting Aqir away.

Jadira started back to the lake. The Bershak men who had waited for the Aqir to drink followed her with their eyes.

Captain Fu'ad led two troops of Invincibles through the gates of Rehajid. They had been ten days on the road, having stopped and searched with minute care every caravan and donkey train they met. Dust was thick on Fu'ad's tongue, and his failure to find the escaped prisoners was heavy on his mind.

The sultan's governor, Satrap Mobani, received the imperial cavalry surrounded by his entire retinue. A quartet of pipers, followed by two Fedushite drummers, played a military tune as the roadworn troopers filed into the city square. Mobani strolled with sedate majesty under a canopy of cloth of gold, borne at each corner by a thick-armed slave. The governor was as tall as Fu'ad but enormously fat. His dark eyes shone like amber through the smoothness of his round face. A beatific smile curved his fleshy lips. Mobani's robes were of the purest white satin, and a brilliant blue sash stretched itself taut around his prodigious girth. He bowed to the captain, causing the ends of his sash to drop into the dust.

"Greetings, Esteemed Warrior!" he declaimed. "Rehajid is honored by your most awesome presence."

"Thank you, Excellency. It is good to be off the road. Will you see to the care of my men and horses?" requested Fu'ad.

"At once, Flower of Fazir." The satrap clapped his flabby hands, and a gang of attendants trotted out to take the horsemen's bridles.

Fu'ad dismounted and pulled off his mail gauntlets. A slave girl appeared, bearing a golden bowl of rosewa-ter. Fu'ad dipped his hands in the sweet-smelling liquid and rinsed away the dirt of many leagues. He held them, dripping, wondering where a towel might be.

"Use my robe, lord," murmured the slave girl. Fu'ad shrugged and dried his hands on the loose cloth of the girl's sleeve. He enjoyed the glimpse he had of her well-shaped brown shoulder.

"If the Valiant Captain will follow me?" Mobani said with a sweep of his arm.

"Marad? Marad!" Fu'ad called. His lieutenant ran to

Excellency," he said thoughtfully. "I suppose the miscreants could have left the road before reaching Rehajid."

"Then your task is done, Terror of the World, for the squealing gutter rats are dead. None but scorpions and witless nomads can survive in the Red Sands."

"One of the prisoners was a nomad woman, one of the Sudiin."

"Ah, the Sudiin! That tribe inhabits the desert as fish inhabit the sea," said Mobani. He sighed, sending small tremors through his abundant jowls. "Then they may yet live. Assuming the maggot-infested beggars still breathe, how may I, a humble servant of His Magnificence, aid you in your righteous quest?"

"I shall need to draw supplies from the imperial stores," Fu'ad said. "Food, water, fresh horses."

"All I have is yours, Gracious Swordsman." Mobani loosened his straining collar. He reached back into the ocean of cushions and produced a large water pipe, formed to resemble a hooded cobra. " A pipe?" he said, offering one of the jeweled mouthpieces to Fu' ad.

"No. It clouds the mind."

Mobani winked one porcine eye and shouted for fire. A small servant boy came running with a brazier.

Fu'ad pressed his knuckles to his chin as he thought. His nostrils filled with the aroma of roses. He remembered the slave girl with the smooth brown shoulders. No, no, he chided himself; duty, Captain. Duty first.

The satrap was blabbering at him again. "Excuse my impudent interruption of your contemplative moment," Mobani said, "but would the Vigorous Lancer care to remain in this, my lowly residence, for the night? We shall spare no effort for your comfort."

Fu'ad surveyed the satrap's gaudy raiment, his multitude of tings, and his sparkling palace and wondered what Mobani would consider opulent. "No, Excellency. Your offer is very kind, but I always barrack with my men."

"I understand; the comradeship of arms, the brotherhood of warriors, is sacred to a man like you. Ah, would that the sultan—may he live forever!—appoint me to the army. By his mercy, I envy you!"

Fu'ad tried to imagine mounds of satrap stuffed into a lancer's coat of mail, but could not. He rose and said, "I will take my leave of you now, Excellency. The only other service i would ask of you is to send a rider back to Omerabad with a complete account of our conversation. You may also communicate my intentions to the Emir Azrel."

The vizier's name brought fear to Mobani's face. "What are your intentions, First Among Invincibles?"

"I shall enter the desert," said Fu'ad simply.

A bonfire burned in the midst of the Aqir camp. The penalties were severe for bringing the touch of flame to the grass and soil of Julli; the Aqir's bonfire burned in a bronze dish, three paces wide. It had ten bronze legs to support it, each one molded to resemble the foot of some desert animal. The dish was so big and so prized by the Aqir that one camel was devoted to carrying it and nothing else.

jadira and her companions—except Nabul, who was elsewhere—sat on Yali Mit'ai's favored side. They ate from the chief s own pot, and passed the communal wine cup. Jadira noticed that the wine was much stronger than it had been at the well. Less water was being used to dilute the spirits. Mit'ai was being generous.

The Aqir's guests told their stories. First Jadira, then Tamakh, then Marix. Without hesitation (or perhaps loosened by Mit'ai's good cup), Marix described his personal quest to recover the seal of Prince Lydon. The others heard his story for the first time. The words poured out before Jadira could caution Marix.

"And if you find this seal, what then?" said Yaii Mit'ai.

"Why, then I'll go to Tantuffa-fa and deliver it to Lord Hurg-l lurgold," said Marix.

"What will come of it? Will you be rewarded? Will this outlander lord fill your pockets with gold?"

"Gold?" said Marix contemptuously. "A gem-mulman does not do a deed o' honor for gold!" He belched. "Tis my duty to fullafill my charge to Sir— Sir—what his name was. And so doing I also get to shpit in the eye of the Sultan o' Fazir!"

The Aqir rumbled with approval. Yali signed for quiet. "May all your foreign gods go with you. The sea is a long and dangerous journey from here," he said.

Tamakh leaned close to Jadira. "I don't remember hearing about this seal."

"There was no time for telling," she whispered.

The Yali then turned to Uramettu. "Many times have I met men of your race in the cities of the Brazen Ring, but never have I met a Fedushite this far north."

"It was not by choice that I find myself here, Honored Chief. I was netted in the forest of my country and sold by Brazen Ring slavers. They, in turn, sold me to the sultan's Procurer of Entertainments. I languished in captivity for half a year before my desert sister and her companions freed me," said Uramettu.

The Yali ordered his chest of treasure brought out. Four Aqiri, their naked swords flashing red in the firelight, carried a large cedarwood box before the chief. The hasp was closed with a white wax seal, Mit'ai's personal insignia. Mit'ai kept the signet on a thong around his neck. He broke the seal and let the lid fall back with a bang.

Mit'ai liked jewels; that was obvious. Scattered through the treasure were gods' tears (diamonds), cat's eye rubies, amethysts, peridots, sapphires, opals, and pearls . . . floating crystal islands in a sea of gold coins. Mit'ai swirled his hand into the gorgeous hoard and came up with a fistful of treasure. He poured this in a heap in front of Jadira.

"Oil, says the poet, smoothes the axle, but gold smoothes the road," he said.

"Yali, you are too generous!" Jadira said.

"Your uncle Hemmet once saved me from a pair of cobras, when I was but a boy. Mit'ai remembers, and repays his debt to the last of the Sudiin." He clapped his hands. "The tales are done! Let there be merriment!" A frightful squealing of pipes arose, and the dancing began.

Jadira bundled the treasure into her robe, and, with her three companions, moved away from the firepan to examine their windfall. Yali Mit'ai did not have a large hand, but he had managed to grasp three Faziri gold piastres, a square Zimoran silver crown, a rough amethyst, and most remarkably, a Tantuffan mark made of electrum.

"We can buy many supplies with this," Jadira said. "Perhaps even a camel."

Uramettu looked around uncertainly. "It does not feel right," she said. "So many people coming and going. The thief is out there, too. We should keep close watch tonight."

"Absholutely," agreed Marix, swaying slightly on his feet.

"I think I'd best walk his lordship around and sober him up," Jadira said.

"I will do it" offered Tamakh.

"No, stay with Uramettu and guard the gold. We'll be back when Marix can walk a rope on the sand."

Truth was, Jadira was feeling a little lightheaded herself. She looped Marix's arm in hers and walked briskly away. Once out of their friends' sight, she stopped. She spun Marix around to face her.

"You are such a voung fool!" she hissed.

"Wha? Why d'you say that?"

"Telling everyone in earshot about the seal! Don't you know that half these people will end up in Rehajid or Omerabad before the moon turns again? What do you think they'll talk about once they're there? Of the prisoners who foiled the sultan's designs,
and the seal they sought to recover!"

Marix blinked. "By my ancestors," he said faintly.

"Your ancestors indeed! The sultan has a thousand ears in every bazaar. If word reaches them in time, we may find the entire imperial army waiting for us in Kaipur," Jadira said hotly.

Marix leaned one arm against a palm tree. He buried his face in his sleeve. Soon Jadira heard sobbing.

"Ah, now then," she said, embarrassed. "You needn't take it so hard. At your age, you can't be used to wine."

"I am undone!" he said with genuine anguish. "I have betrayed my trust!" Marix grabbed the hilt of his sword. "I ought—"

There was a crash, and a mighty metallic clang from the Aqir camp. The music faded with a discordant shriek, and Jadira saw a knot of men struggling near the fire.

"Come on," she said, and Marix quickly forgot his despair.

They ran to the firepan and found Nabul, the thief, firmly in the hands of a half-dozen nomads. The bronze dish had been upset, and a pile of glowing coals sizzled on the green turf of Julli.

"Hang the swine! Hang him!" some Aqir were shouting.

"Fire-spiller!" cried others.

"What happened?" Jadira asked.

The Yali Mit'ai appeared between two tall nomad women. "What is this disturbance?" he roared.

"Noble Yali, this pig-Faziri has overturned the firepan," said one Aqiri holding Nabul. Other Aqiri were busy snuffing the flames and trying to replace the coals in the prized bronze dish.

"I know this man," Jadira said. "He is the cutpurse we spoke of. He helped us escape from Omerabad."

"This one?" said Mit'ai. He walked up to Nabul. The Aqiri forced the thief to his knees, so that the chief might look him in the eye. "Faziri," said Mit'ai, "the law of Julli decrees that fire-spilling is the worst crime a man can commit here. The penalty is death by hang-ing."

"No!" Nabul protested.

"Be silent!" Mit'ai commanded.

"It was an accident! I tripped—!" Nabul exclaimed, fear in his voice.

"Don't whine, man!" Mit'ai nodded to his men. They dragged Nabul away.

"What will happen now?" said Marix, wide-eyed.

"For now he will be held in the pigeon pens," said the

Yali. "On the morrow, he will hang from the Julli posts." He referred to the stone pillars, very ancient, that stood in a circle at the heart of the oasis.

Another question formed on Marix's lips, but Jadira put a hand over his mouth and steered him away. She kept his mouth covered until they rejoined Tamakh and Uramettu. The priest was snoring softly. The woman had her back against a tree, her hands nestled between her knees. She was the panther in repose, alert, watchful.