D & D - Red Sands (6 page)

"Captain Fu'ad, you are generally known as a reliable officer. Is this not so?" said Azrel.

"I do my best, Excellency," said Fu'ad. He wanted badly to scratch his nose, but dared not take such a liberty in front of the vizier.

"You must do more than your best, Captain. It is bad statecraft to send a coercive note to the count of Dosen when his son is no longer in our keeping. It is bad theo-craft to promise the city priesthoods that we will suppress the heretical followers of Agma, then to allow one to escape. Am I making myself clear, Captain?"

"Perfectly so, Great Emir."

"Good. Good. I want no misunderstanding. It was j my name on the note, Fu'ad; it was I who signed the priest Tamakh's death warrant. It is I who will have to explain to His Magnificence these blunders. Can you imagine how much the sultan—may he live forever! — likes to hear of blunders?" The vizier's voice had grown steadily in volume and was now a scream. "I want them back, Fu'ad! The prisoner Marix alive if possible, but back in my hands, do you hear?" The dead in their

graves could have heard Emir Azrel.

"I will lead a troop myself," said Fu'ad. "They shall not escape."

"take two troops. Anyone who helps them must die. I want all who are caught in their company put to the word. There is to be no mercy in this matter, Captain. Mercy is the prerogative of the sultan—may he live forever—and I am not His Magnificence."

"My lance has never failed in his service."

"Good. Good. See that it doesn't."

There was a knock on the door. Azrel said, "Come." A loot soldier entered.

Your command has been carried out, Excellency," said the Faziri.

"Show me," the emir replied.

The foot soldier held up his hands. In each he clutched by the hair a severed head. One was Nungwun, the guard who allowed the escape; the other was the warden-general of the prison. His crime was allowing Nungwun to allow the escape.

"Post them in the usual place," said Azrel. The soldier bowed and departed on his grisly errand.

"When do you leave, Captain?" asked Azrel.

"Before sunset, Excellency."

"They may get far by sunset, even on foot."

Fu'ad chose his words carefully. "I have dispatched riders from the Cobra Regiment to leave the city from all the gates to search for the criminals, Great Emir. When they are found, I shall ride forth with the Invincibles and catch the pestilent scum."

Azrel chewed fitfully on his graying mustache. "See that you do, Captain. It would distress many ladies in Omerabad to see your handsome head on a pole in Kefaaq Square," he said. "Such is the penalty for failure.

Fu'ad snapped to attention and bowed. "I will have them, Great Emir, or die trying."

Azrel smiled unpleasantly. "Is that not what I said?"

Fu'ad was glad to return to the sunny, dusty street outside the palace. The sultan's realm was home to scenes of great wealth and beauty—and heartless cruelty such as he had never known, even on the battlefield.

His second in command, Marad
gan
Rafikiya, held the reins of Fu'ad's horse across the neck of his own mount. He handed Fu'ad the reins as the captain put a foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle.

"What is the word, my brother?" Marad asked.

Fu'ad answered, "We hunt them down. The yellow-haired one is to be brought back alive. The rest..." He drew a finger across his throat.

Marad straightened his back. The mail curtain around his helmet brim jingled musically. "The Phoenix Troop is ready," he said.

"Call out the Vulture Troop as well," said Fu'ad. "His Excellency Emir Azrel wants no effort spared in recapturing the prisoners."

Marad saluted and spurred his horse. He galloped up the crowded street, scattering a mob of traders and beggars, and upsetting a line of women who carried the morning's bread in flat baskets on their heads.

Fu'ad rode back to barracks of the Phoenix Troop. The men there were well into packing their gear for the chase. Fu'ad did not interrupt. His quarters consisted of a single room at the north end of the barracks, plainly furnished. Fu'ad drew the curtain across the door and unbuckled the strap of his heavy helmet. From under his armor, Fu'ad pulled a small golden disc on a chain. He turned the necklace until he'd inspected every link in the

chain. The yellow patina revealed no signs of wear.

Fu'ad turned the amulet over in his hands. In low relief on the front was a profile of Sultan Julmet. On the reverse was an inscription in archaic Faziri script: MAY HE LIVE FOREVER.

The amulet was one of the sultan's many eyes. Each man who took the oath as an officer in the army of His-Magnificence was given an Eye of the Sultan to wear around his neck. Through it, the Faziri monarch could follow Fu'ad's actions. Though it did not show scenes like a magic mirror, it did send location images and feelings back to sensitive magicians at the court. They would know instantly of any triumph—or treachery. The penally for removing the amulet was death. It was believed that the Eye of the Sultan was indeed capable of causing death, if removed. No one of Fu'ad's acquaintance had ever investigated this possibility.

Fu'ad packed a few items into his saddlebag. He went out to the barracks courtyard, where the Phoenix Troop was assembled. The Eye of the Sultan was hidden beneath Fu'ad's armor, close to his beating heart.

The Word of Agma

Noon found the companions sprawled beside the royal road. They had made fair progress, almost two leagues, and the easy path to Rehajid weakened their resolve to enter the desert.

They rested, in their own fashion. Tamakh knelt on a flat rock in meditation. He swayed slightly, back and forth, moving his lips in a silent litany. Not far away, Nabul was trying to fit himself with a
keffiya.
He put a piece of the white cloth he had stolen over his head, but the headband was too loose and the cloth slid, engulfing his face. Jadira stifled a laugh. The thief whipped off the hood and sawed at the headband with a wicked-looking dagger. He re-knotted the band and tried the arrangement again. This time only his eyes were lost.

Jadira scrambled up the embankment and saw Marix a few paces away, standing guard. With helmet, shield, and spear, the nobleman looked quite martial in the bright light of noon. She admired the straightness of his shoulders and the lift of his chin.

Marix spoiled the effect by turning toward her. The heavy helmet was far too big for him. It squashed his ears outward in very comical fashion. She could not restrain a laugh.

"What's so amusing?" asked Marix. The spear slipped from his hand. Marix bent to get it, and the conical iron pot fell off his head. Jadira clapped a hand to her mouth to smother her laughter.

Marix replaced the helmet and came to her. "Am I such a buffoon?" he demanded.

"No worse than I would be in your country," Jadira replied generously, stifling more laughter.

Marix, disarmed by her response, looked quickly up the road. "No sign of pursuit. Indeed, no sign of anything."

"I don't like it," she said. "It would be better for us if the road were crowded. A fine, big caravan would mask us well from the Invincibles."

"What happened to Uramettu?" asked Marix. "Each time we stop she disappears."

"Perhaps she is foraging—"Jadira began. The drumming of hooves cut her off.

"Get out of sight," Marix said, pushing her to the bank beside the road. "Hurry!"

She skidded in the loose sand to the base of the slope. Nabul popped out from a desiccated
maqeet
bush. To his quizzical expression Jadira simply replied, "Hide!" She ran farther and grabbed the somnolent Tamakh by the shoulders. "Wake up, Holy One! The Invincibles are after us!"

'"Vincibles?" mumbled the priest. His eyes grew wide. "Agma preserve us!"

Marix threw himself down by Jadira and Tamakh. The rider was in sight now, a lone figure galloping hard from the direction of Omerabad. White plumes bobbed from

the peak of his helmet. An aroused serpent was graven on his blackened breastplate.

"The Cobra Regiment!" hissed Nabul. "Nangoli swordsmen in the sultan's pay!"

"What shall we do?" asked Marix.

"Lie low and let him pass," said Tamakh.

"No. We must take him," said Jadira.

"But why?" the priest asked. "He does not threaten us. He doesn't even know we're here."

"We need a horse. And he'll have food and water."

"Right!" said Marix. Before anyone could argue further, the third son of Count Fernald stood and waved to the oncoming horseman. In cloak and helmet, Marix looked like a Faziri himself.

"He's coming. Are you ready?" Marix muttered from the corner of his mouth.

"Now you ask," said Jadira. Tamakh invoked his patron deity again.

The mercenary came on at a trot. Marix gripped the spear tightly, turning the hardwood shaft in his sweaty palms.

The horseman drew up short. He put up a hand and called,
"Kasah al'am!"
Was it a greeting or a challenge? The rider pushed back his brimmed helmet and repeated his hail.

"Oh, filth," muttered Marix. Then he shouted
"Yahh!"
and charged. The helmet fell from his head and his blond hair shone in the sunlight.

The Nangoli snatched his scimitar and spurred his mount forward. He caught the point of Marix's spear on his shield. It skidded off, and the young man crashed into the steed. Marix spun and fell just as the scimitar's tip swished by his ear.

Jadira uttered a Sudiin war cry and sprang to attack.

Nabul leaped to his feet and circled behind the mounted man.

The mercenary cut at Jadira, who had only Nungwun's cudgel to ward off the blade. Marix got up, all a-tangle in cloak and spearshaft, just in time to receive a blow on the head from the horseman's brazen shield. Down he went again.

The horse pranced as the fugitives surrounded the lone rider. Nabul had his dagger drawn, but he shrank back each time the mercenary rotated to face him. Jadira landed a good clout on the enemy's leg. He struck back with his sword, the flat of his blade catching the nomad woman on the neck.

Roused by the melee, Tamakh appeared in the road. The horse's tail swatted him in the face, and he tumbled backward on the sand.

"Taqeet asah!"
said the mercenary in disgust. He grabbed the spear from where Marix had jabbed it in the ground. With the extra reach of this weapon, he could spit these annoying vagabonds without further ado. He singled out the dagger-wielder first, as he was the most seriously armed.

Suddenly, the horse began to buck and shake. It rolled its eyes and shook its head in stark terror. The rider kept his seat, but required both hands to do so. The spear fell to the ground.

A piercing howl arrested everyone in their tracks. The horse neighed and shivered. Jadira turned toward the sound, which came from the dunes on the other side of the road.

A dense black form hurtled through the air, striking the horseman and knocking him from the saddle. He landed heavily on his back with the black thing at his throat. The man screamed once, then lay still. The creature let go of him and retreated to the center of the road. Jadira caught the panicked horse and quickly soothed it.

On his knees, Marix pointed at the big creature coiled in the road. "A panther!" he said.

Jadira found the spear and pointed it at the black animal.

"Wait," said Tamakh. He was kneeling by the dead soldier, offering a hasty benediction. He peered intently at the panther. "Don't hurt her." The panther turned to the priest, and they locked eyes. Tamakh's face registered surprise and the animal's lips lifted in a snarl. Tamakh smiled.

"It's a killer!" said the terrified Marix. "Do you see what it did to that man?"

"She only did what the rest of you were trying to do," said Tamakh. Jadira heard bitterness in his words. "And she is one of us, after all," the priest added.

"What are you saying, Holy One?" asked Jadira.

"The panther is Uramettu."

"By the Thirty Gods!" Nabul made a sign to ward off evil influences.

"No wonder the sultan kept her in a cage," said Marix. "She is cursed!"

"Are you certain, Holy One?" asked Jadira.

"Agma lets me see through such enchantments. This animal is indeed our companion." He looked at each of them in turn. "She is a shape-shifter."

The sun had declined, almost touching the higher dunes. Its rays bathed the motionless panther in brazen color. The magnificent beast shuddered and twisted. Its hind legs straightened and lengthened with ominous pops and groans. The dense black fur thinned and disappeared into smooth dark skin.

"Cursed," mumbled Nabul, turning away.

Jadira watch in horrified fascination as the panther's head lengthened and flattened. Its long teeth and whiskers retreated. Just as she, too, would have looked away, Jadira's eyes found those of the panther. They
were
Uramettu's eyes. As the animal became a woman again, those warm brown eyes never left Jadira's face. They were the only part of the panther that did not change.