D & D - Red Sands (11 page)

"There was a disturbance," she said.

"Yes. Nabul managed to overturn the Aqiri's firepan," said Jadira. Marix said "Umma-mm-mm" and she dropped her hand from his mouth.

"We can't let them hang Nabul for tripping!" he said.

"Hang?" said Uramettu.

"It is a difficult matter," said Jadira. "Nabul did give us aid, but it would be very bad to offend the Yali Mit'ai after his generosity to us." She dropped down beside the sleeping priest. "And Nabul
did
overturn the dish and spill fire on Julli."

"An accident," insisted Marix. "For once he did not act from malice."

Jadira chewed her lower lip. "I know."

Tamakh caught a snore in his nose and snorted loudly. Jadira looked down at him and after a few seconds her expression softened. "Wake up, Holy One," she said.

Tamakh sniffed and yawned, opening his eyes. "It's a very dark morning."

"It's still night. We need your help."

"What help?"

"Magic," Jadira said.

"What magic?"

"Nabul is in danger. Can you work your magic so that he doesn't hang?"

"Eyah! Do you think I am King Tozra, that I can clap my hands and my will is done? What small things I can do are all part of my holy orders." He paused. "Who's hanging the thief, and why?" Jadira explained in a few words. "Tfou surprise me, Jadira; you also, Marix. I would have thought you would be glad to see Nabul on the end of a rope."

Jadira looked surprised herself. "He vexes me very much, but I do not wish his death."

"Nor do I," said Marix. "No man should die merely for clumsiness—not after a life of worse sorts of wickedness."

"What exactly are the 'small things' you can do?" asked Jadira.

"The working of iron, the making of lire, summoning certain primitive spirits subservient to the will of Agma—"

"Is that all?"

The pudgy cleric drew himself up and replied, "I told you: I am
not
a vulgar sorcerer."

"Well, I hope it will be enough. Come with me; you too, Uramettu," Jadira said.

"Where are we going?" asked the Fedush woman, rising.

"To find an ironmonger."

Scorpion Rock

Morning, and Julli was alive with men and animals forming into caravans, ready to depart for points east and south. A team of camels, a cow, and three yearlings trotted by the sleeping companions. A Nuzi tribesman chased after them, calling maledictions. His whip cracked in vain.

Marix rubbed the sleep of just two notches from his eyes. They had worked long past midnight at the pillars, setting the stage for Jadira's plan. Even Tamakh chuckled over it when they were done. Now, from a copse twenty-paces away, the companions awaited the Aqir and the doomed prisoner.

They were not long coming. Poor miserable Nabul, a pole thrust under his arms and his elbows pinioned together behind his back, stumbled ahead of Yali Mit'ai's squat little pony. He was gagged to prevent him cursing his executioners with evil fates.

"Hold!" cried Mit'ai. The mounted Aqiri milled to a stop. Two of them dismounted and grabbed Nabul's pole. They hustled the thief forward to the stone

columns.

There were sixteen pillars. Some had fallen in the dim past, others had cracked, leaving only stumps standing. The columns were deeply grooved with spiral lines, which ran up the pillars to the flat, drum-shaped capitals. Hard wooden beams usually remained in the sockets between the capitals, but this morning, there were none.

The Yali squinted into the bright blue sky. "What sort of foolery is this?" he said. "We can't hang the dog without a cross-beam!"

A furious discussion broke out among the Aqiri over what to do. As it grew in intensity, Nabul was all but forgotten. He made a few tentative steps for freedom, but was easily caught and dragged back.

"Have they stewed long enough?" said Marix, grinning.

"Not yet," said Jadira. "A while longer, then we'll oblige them."

The Aqiri were hotly debating alternate methods of dispatching Nabul. Some wanted him dragged by horses. Some opted for beheading. One stickler for legal detail said they should build a human pyramid and hang Nabul from the top.

The companions walked from the copse toward the shouting mob. The horsemen parted for them, and they reached the Yali. Mit'ai was standing in his saddle, shouting for all he was worth.

"Be silent! BE SILENT!" he roared.

"Yali," said Jadira calmly.

"BE—! Oh, it's you. What do you want?"

"We noticed your predicament, Yali, and we've come to help." The imprisoned Nabul snapped around and gaped in disbelief.

Yali looked down at Jadira from his perch. "What do you propose?"

"Since you have no wooden beam to hang the rascal from, perhaps you could use a metal rod," she said.

"Metal? Where?"

"That one, yonder." She pointed across the circle of columns to the most distant pillar. A black rod protruded from the top. Uramettu had climbed the pillar and placed it there herself.

"Well, now, that was very sharp-eyed of you, my child." Mit'ai's smile quickly hardened. "Why do you aid us? I thought this Faziri was your friend."

"Friend? This man is no one's friend. He was useful when we needed him, O Yali , but the law of Julli is my law. The Faziri spilled fire on Julli, and he must pay for his crime," she said. Nabul chewed his gag in terror.

"All right. What are you waiting for?" Mit'ai snapped at his men. Nabul was lifted by a half-dozen worthies and carried to the rod-bearing pillar. A seventh man trailed close behind, a thick coil of rope around his slender torso.

The seventh nomad climbed the pillar, using only his fingers and toes in the shallow-cut hieroglyphs. At the top, he unhooked the rope from his waist and threw it over the rod. He looped the noose around his arms and gave a sharp cry of
Hai!
Aqiri on the ground lowered him fast, and he landed on his bare feet, grinning.

"Begin," ordered Mit'ai.

"Wait!" said Jadira. "This man"—she pointed to Tamakh—"is a priest. May he say some words of comfort to the condemned?"

The Yali scratched his beard. "I suppose, if he is quick. We must start for Zimora before mid-morn."

Jadira patted Tamakh on the back. The priest went to

(he trussed-up thief and uttered a blessing. He bent close to Nabul's ear and whispered a few words, then stood back with his arms upraised. Tamakh incanted:
Agmas copit neda! Copitur desram Agman, Copit neda! Agmas!

Suden copitur desram!

Tamakh intoned the archaic words with expressive gestures of his upraised hands. Jadira tensed, wondering if the Aqir could sense the vibrations of magic in the ether. She felt it—a palpable pressure inside her head as the priest recited the formula.

Mit'ai listened to two repetitions of the incantation. Whether by heritage or by sheer impatience, he gave no sign of feeling anything unusual. He signaled his men to haul away on the rope. Nabul danced up on his toes as the rope grew taut. The Aqiri pulled hard, but the thief never left the ground. A whole circle of rope piled at the nomads' feet. The Yali shouted for them to cease. Nabul sank gratefully down on his heels.

Mit'ai looked up. The metal bar had bent under the weight in an extraordinary way. Both ends were straight and solid, but the center—where the rope was—had sagged in a limp bow, like soft bread dough. Even as the Yali looked, the center of the bar blew floppily in the breeze.

"Bajid!" he said. The slender nomad who first climbed the pillar reappeared from the crowd. "Fetch me that rod!" Mit'ai ordered. "Someone is playing us for fools!"

In a trice Bajid was back with the rod. He handed the wrist-thick metal bar to his chief. The Yali tried to bend it. The rod was solid. He braced it against his knee and

grunted with effort. The metal did not change shape.

"What is this witchery?" he demanded. He gave the rod to Bajid. "What would you call this cursed thing?"

"It seems a rod of common iron," said the nomad. Jadira hid her smile behind her headdress. The Yali turned to her.

"What do you know of this?" he said.

"I, Great Chief? I am but an ignorant woman."

Tamakh cleared his throat. "If I may speak, O Yali?"

"Speak then."

"I think, Great Chief, that my god has interceded in the case of this thief."

"God? What god cares for the welfare of a sniveling Faziri pickpocket?"

"Ah, Agma does. Being a new sect, we value each and every convert," said Tamakh.

The Yali looked suspiciously from Nabul to Jadira. He stamped his foot on the iron rod and winced from the impact. Gradually a look of puzzlement replaced his frown of anger.

"He has power, this god of yours." Mit'ai scratched his ear with a blunt thumb. "Would this god Agma care to acquire some new followers?" he said almost humbly.

Tamakh spread his arms and smiled. "All are welcome."

"I still say you could have given me some warning," Nabul said. He was perched on a short-legged donkey. Every few steps the animal took, his toes dug in the sand.

"There wasn't time," said Uramettu. "We couldn't free you by force or negotiation, so all that remained was guile."

"Deception by magic," Jadira said vaguely. Tamakh i apped his new donkey with a switch and came alongside her.

"You are troubled," he said.

"I feel I have used the Yali ill," she replied.

"In what way? Surely we owed Nabul this favor, after he guided us out of Omerabad. And perhaps the just path of Agma will benefit the entire Aqir tribe."

Marix urged his beast forward. "It was a princely jest!" he chortled. "Imagine hoodwinking that crafty old chieftain out of his victim, and converting the nomads to the worship of Agma as well! And the look on Nabul's face when he thought we had abandoned him . . ."

"Most humorous! I'll bet you used to oil the tips of beggars' crutches," Nabul called from behind.

"Are you complaining, thief?" said Jadira over her shoulder.

"Me? Complain? What an idea!" Nabul's comrades laughed as one as they rode northwest from Julli toward the distant mountains.

They had bought donkeys from a trader at the oasis with the coins Mit'ai had given them. They purchased five, though Uramettu said no beast of burden would tolerate her on its back. She continued to walk, and the fifth animal was loaded with their provisions.

A day's journey north, the desert elevation rose. The wind picked up and blew steadily from the west. As Tamakh reckoned their location, they had only to travel due west to strike the southern range of the Shammat. Jadira estimated they had seventy leagues to go.

Two clays out of Julli, the companions were resting in the lee of a dune when Uramettu rose from her usual crouch and began pacing the sand.

"What is it?" said Marix.

"I sense something. A presence—someone lurking nearby," she said.

Nabul drew his dagger. "The Aqiri!" he said. "They found out you tricked them!"

Uramettu adjusted the sash of her new burnoose. "I shall see just who it is," she said. Marix held out the spear to her. Uramettu shook her head.

"I won't need that," she said, and she loped off around the base of the dune.

"What do you suppose she meant?" asked Marix. His question was punctuated by the high, wavering wail of a prowling panther. The four exchanged worried looks and sat down in a close group, backs together.

The day stood still. Blown sand drifted around Tamakh's motionless feet. He scratched at the short stubble beginning to poke through the soft skin of his face. Nabul rubbed the blade of his dagger absently against a sandal strap. Marix hummed a Dosen tune. Jadira felt his shoulder on hers.

The donkeys brayed unhappily and churned around the stakes that held their reins to the ground. Then a dark form flowed over the ritn of the dune, and the companions stood up.

The panther slunk toward them. She held something in her mouth, but Jadira was distracted by the smear of bright blood on Uramettu's flank. The stump of an arrow protruded from her leg.

"Uramettu!" she said, starting forward. Tamakh hooked her arm.

"Careful. Wounded, she may not react kindly to us,"

he said. "Let me approach her."

He pushed back the hood of his burnoose and walked slowly toward the injured animal. He spoke in low, soothing tones. Despite that, Uramettu bared fearsome fangs before Tamakh got within an arm's length of her.

"Beware, Holy One!" Marix said.

Tamakh knelt and put his face down to the sand. Uramettu's nose twitched. The priest inched forward, keeping his face averted. When the sunburned skin of his shaven head was just a finger's breadth away, Uramettu uttered a throaty rumble.

"It's all right," said Tamakh soothingly.

Tamakh gently removed the wad of cloth from Ura-mettu's mouth. It was a nomad's headdress, nut-colored with a black border. Spots of red flecked the underside.