Sandstorm, 9 & 10

[maderr]

Nine

“The sands begin to turn red,” Sahayl said wearily. “What happened, Cobra Sheik?”

“They attacked us two hours after sundown,” Zulfiqar said flatly. “Bearing the markings of Falcon but lacking their birds. I am no fool. Falcon always go into battle with their birds, but that is not something anyone could imitate.”

Sahayl nodded. “But who is our enemy?”

“Afterwards, we checked every last one. But those still alive would not talk, and when we turned our backs they killed themselves. They were all foreign; I don’t doubt most were slaves at some point. I don’t understand this!”

“Not Tavamara, then.” Sahayl said. “Saa, but why would the west trouble us? The Desert has nothing that anyone else would want.”

Zulfiqar. “Clearly there is something.”

“Saa, I would like to know what is going on in our Desert. So false Falcon attacked you…” Sahayl frowned. “A strange coincidence, given that only a week ago we got into a skirmish with Isra at the Fox camp.”

“I hope you are not suggesting what I think,” Zulfiqar said, looking oddly at him for using Isra’s name but not commenting. “Unfortunately, it would make sense. Too much sense.” He closed his eyes. “I lost too many men tonight, Sandstorm Amir. I don’t want to think that somewhere among the living lurks a traitor. Why would anyone side with the heathens?”

“When you drag him from the rock he hides beneath, ask him.” Sahayl turned to Wafai. “This sounds too much like our fight with Cat several weeks ago.”

Wafai nodded. “We did exactly as they wanted, attacking Cat. How many other Tribes are unwittingly playing into enemy hands?”

“How can we find them to ask?” Sahayl asked. No one knew the location of every Tribe in the Desert. Tribes had tried for years to search each other out. But the Desert was too large, and the Tribes too good at hiding, for it to ever be accomplished.

But obviously the enemy was aware of certain locations, most likely because of traitors. If it continued, even Ghost’s secrets would not stand up against someone who knew the location of every other Tribe. It was a chilling thought. “We need help,” Sahayl said.

Zulfiqar snorted “Who would help us? We have long prided ourselves on needing no one. The Tribes need only the Lady. Anyone who tried to help us would then try to rule us.”

“Rule what? A bunch of sand?” Sahayl flicked the words away, though he knew there was truth to them. He’d conversed often enough with Ikram, before the man’s communications had simply ceased, to know that a foothold in the Desert would be a very good thing. Not only was there potentially an entire army at the disposal of whatever King claimed the Desert, that King would also have free access to the country or countries on the opposite side.

More than once he’d helped Ikram with invading soldiers. He knew how badly the western nations wanted Tavamara, if not why. If they annihilated or took over the Tribes, the Desert was theirs for the taking.

Ikram. He could ask Ikram for help. But the man had long stopped communicating…

Sahayl’s eyes widened. Treachery. Traitors. Were communications being intercepted somehow? But who in the Tribe would dare? It hurt to even think such a thing. “I must go,” Sahayl said. “Help must be found, and I must figure out how to do it. Keep my men as long as you need them; send for assistance if—“

“Amir! Sandstorm Amir!” A man on a pale brown horse came charging toward them, his horse clearly at the breaking point. “The camp! We’re under attack. These men…we do not recognize their markings but they are definitely Tribe.”

Sahayl nodded. “Cobra Sheik, gather your people together and bring them to Ghost. There is strength in numbers. My men have permission to lead you to our camp. Wafai! We go! Ketcha!”



By the time they returned to camp, the battle was all over. Sahayl dismounted and left his horse at the entrance. He looked to the men standing nearby. “Report.”

“They attacked roughly three hours after you left…” the nearest man said. “They took us by surprise, and fought more ruthlessly than any I’ve ever seen… I’ve never fought a Tribe like this. They’re of the Desert but I do not know their markings.”

Sahayl felt cold. Not by the report, though it was plenty sobering, but because not once had the man addressed him.

“Sahayl…” Wafai said softy.

“Lady…” Sahayl whispered. He strode further into the camp, stopping occasionally to hear more of what had occurred, to see how the wounded were doing, dread growing heavy in his chest the further into camp he went.

Bodies were everywhere. Friends. Enemies. He knelt down beside one and tugged away the head and face wraps. Across each cheek was scrolling calligraphy, far too elegant for him to believe it was the mark of a needle. High on one cheekbone was a small animal’s head, and he thought it looked familiar, memories stirring of scrolls he had not read since he was young. “I have seen this before…” he shook his head, “but I do not recall the Tribe. Perhaps it will come to me.” He stood up again. “Come.”

He finally reached the far end of camp, and the shredded remains of his father’s tent.

As he approached, two men stood up from where they had been conversing over something. Noor and Kahlil. Both watched him somberly as he approached.

Kahlil bowed. “We are happy to see you returned to us alive and well…Sandstorm Sheik.”

Sahayl closed his eyes, fighting back the mixed emotions that assailed him. There was no time. He would face them later. Slowly he opened his eyes. “Get all who are able to pack up camp. Cobra comes to join us. We move out as soon as they arrive. Find riders to journey to the other encampments. Tell them to break pattern and head home. We need to be there as quickly as possible, though caution should not be sacrificed for haste.”

“Home?” Noor said. “Sheik, that could reveal our deepest secret to the enemy.”

“An unknown enemy is killing the Tribes!” Sahayl said. “We have no more time for secrets. All that will save us is uniting. There is no other place we can safely gather. Send messengers out to the rest of Ghost to keep an eye out for other Tribes which might be in trouble.” He stared out across the ruined camp. “See if we can’t figure out which Tribe attacked us. These weren’t imposters and I would know why.” He curled his hands into fist. “See my orders are carried out.”

“Yes, Sandstorm Sheik.” Noor bowed and strode off through the camp.

“Where is my father?” Sahayl asked softly.

“They seemed to come out of nowhere,” Kahlil replied. “They attacked in two groups; one headed for the Sheik’s tent and the other for the Amir’s. We tried to stop them, but their method of attack was obviously intended to take out the Ghost Sheik and Amir at all costs – our only advantage came when they realized you were not here. Your father is being prepared for transport to be buried at home.” He started, as if suddenly recalling something, then reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a large gold ring set with a square-cut ruby. He handed it to Sahayl, who removed his Amir ring with that of the Sheik.

“We don’t have time for that,” Sahayl said heavily. “We must move quickly. The wounded will have to be left in a smaller camp until they are fit for travel. The dead will have to be burned or buried here. Lady and Tribe forgive me.”

“Sheik,” Kahlil said with another bow. “We will have your tent readied.”

“I will need to hear full reports from all advisors able to give them,” Sahayl said. “Have them ready to do so in an hour’s time.”

“Yes, Sandstorm Sheik.” Kahlil strode off, leaving Sahayl and Wafai alone.

Sahayl drew a breath and then moved into what remained of his father’s…his tent. There was blood everywhere, covering broken and upturned furniture, scattered clothes and into the elaborate rugs, smearing across ruined books and paper. Everything was in ruins. He wondered how many his father had managed to kill before they finally got the better of him in the confines of the tent. Hashim’s sword lay on the ground, as did his long, slightly-curved dagger. Sahayl turned away.

“Sahayl,” Wafai said softly.

“He was my father,” Sahayl said hoarsely. “Relief was not the first thing I should have felt.” He jerked away when Wafai reached out to him and with a rough sound strode from the tent. “Salvage anything of importance, destroy the rest. I never want to any of it again.”

“Yes, Sandstorm Sheik.” Wafai said quietly.

“Sheik!” Noor came running toward him. “Scouts! They’ve captured a Falcon, and he’s demanded to see you – by name.”

Sahayl drew a breath. By name? He shook his head. “By the Lady, I can take no more of this today. Bring him at once – and do not treat him harshly.”

“As you command, Sandstorm Sheik.” Noor turned and raced off

“Sheik,” another soldier came up. ‘Your tent is prepared.”

“Then have the Falcon brought to my tent, along with food and water. Inform me the moment Cobra arrives.”

“Yes, Sheik.” The soldier ran off.

Several minutes later soldiers requested entrance and Sahayl bid them enter. His eyes widened as they deposited the Falcon on the rug before him. “Desert rose…” He glanced at the guards, flicked his fingers. “Bring a healer.” The soldiers vanished.

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Isra said, holding his side, trembling with pain. Despite that, his blue eyes were still the brightest thing Sahayl had ever seen. “You’ve been attacked as well.”

Sahayl nodded. “Twice now. We attacked Cat some time ago because we thought they attacked us first. Too late we realized we had been tricked.”

Isra laughed, a bitter sound. “Did you know you attacked us a week ago? Last night we were attacked by Cobra.”

“Not possible,” Sahayl said. “Cobra was attacked by Falcon just hours ago.”

“Hadge,” Isra whispered. “One of them…pretended to be you. He spoke in the language of Hadge as he lay dying. False Cobra attacked us last night. Most survived, because we were expecting it this time, but that is twice now they have found us.”

Sahayl moved around the table, wrapped a hand around Isra’s upper arm, steadying him. “Tell us how to find your people. We can take them to a place of safety. It’s where we are going, and our enemies will have a hard time following the paths Ghost takes.”

“Where is safe when the enemy lurks among us?” Isra asked. “How do I know you haven’t turned?”

“Saa, desert rose. You would already be dead.”

Isra started to speak, but the tent flap flew open as a healer arrived.

“Let me see,” the healer snapped, all but shoving his Sheik aside before setting to work on Isra, forcing him to lay down, cutting away his clothes to get a look at the cut to his side. “Not too bad,” he said, tsking softly. “A few stitches, Falcon.”

Isra’s reply turned into a snarl of pain as the healer began to stitch. He was silent and still by the time the healer bowed and left. “What has become of the Desert, when a Falcon is healed by the Ghost in the tent of their Amir?” He frowned at the look on Sahayl’s face “What is it?”

“He is the Ghost Sheik,” Wafai said from where he sat in the corner, sword draw and his expression one of severe displeasure. “I would know, my Sandstorm Sheik, why you speak to a recent enemy with such ease.”

“Saa, I wonder. Perhaps it because I have more important enemies to worry about.” Sahayl reached up to touch his scar. “And I offered my name to the only man to ever mark me in the battle. I feel more at ease for doing so, perhaps. Did you seek us, Isra, when you went for help?”

Isra shook his head. “I was simply hoping the Lady would send me toward help. My Tribe continues to move, hoping not to be found again. Another attack will leave us badly crippled, our women and children severely short of protection.” He struggled to sit up, but jerked roughly away when Sahayl tried to help him. “My uncle, when he is able, will laugh long and hard that I wound up here.”

Wafai chuckled softly. “Perhaps my Sheik is not the only one at whom the Lady constantly laughs.”

“Sheik!” Noor entered the tent and bowed low. “Cobra scouts bring word the camp will be arriving in four hours time.”

“Then make sure we are set to travel in four hours and that the injured will be taken care of,” Sahayl replied. He hesitated, and lifted a hand to bid Noor remain a moment longer. “Isra,” he said quietly, staring into those blue eyes. “Where is your Tribe?”

Isra stared back for a long time, a hundred emotions flicking through his eyes. At last he bowed his head and name a series of coordinates, body tense, face carefully blank.

“Send men to find the Falcon Tribe,” Sahayl ordered, looking at Noor. “Guide them to our home.”

“Sheik…” Noor stared at him, wide-eyed, then finally nodded and bowed. “As my Sheik commands.”

Isra looked dazed but decided. “Take this,” he said, and unfastened an elaborate bundle of brown and white feathers, secured with a silver medallion decorated with stars and calligraphy, from his hair. “Request an audience with Sheik Jabbar, tell him that you come at request of his impetuous nephew.”

Sahayl nodded and Noor bowed himself out.

“You take many risks, my Sandstorm Sheik.” Wafai looked disgruntled.

“We have no choice,” Sahayl said wearily. “None that I can think of, anyway. If the Tribes continue to act as they have, the Lady will have no Tribes left to laugh at.”

Wafai pointed at Isra. “How do you know he is not a traitor? He certainly fits the part. Mere days ago he hated you, swore to kill you the next time you met. Yet now he is here on his knees begging you for help.”

“I do not beg,” Isra snarled. “But I know what Hadge is capable of, and I may even know why they are doing this, and if I must set aside my hatred for Ghost for the time being then I will do so. Half-breed or not, I am a son of the Lady of the Sands.”

“He is no traitor,” Sahayl said. “A traitor would not have risked death by running blindly into the Desert on a slim chance he might find a Tribe that even by Desert standards is good at hiding. Saa, brother of my soul, leave such ideas behind.”

Wafai shook his head. “It is not like you to trust so easily.”

“What makes you think it is an easy thing to do?” Sahayl replied. He looked at Isra, fingers tracing the scar on his own cheek. “I know precisely what I risk.”

Isra grimaced. “I am no happier by my presence here than you, protector. I will not stab your Sheik in the back, if that’s what you fear. I had my chance to kill him, I passed it by.” He stared at the rug beneath him, fingers attempting to burrow into the tight weave.

“Saa, you did. I am in your debt, desert rose.”

“You can start to repay it by not calling me that!” Isra snapped, anger filling his face. “I am not a flower.”

Sahayl sighed. “It is not meant as an insult.”

Wafai eyed them both, but said nothing though his face said he had much he wanted to say.

“Sheik,” a guard stood just outside the tent. “Your advisors are here.”

“Send them in,” Sahayl said.



Sahayl contemplated the men gathered around his table, all of them watching him with expressions at least as somber as his own. They were not going to like what he had to say, but he could think of nothing else to do. Not in the face of all that was occurring. The Desert was not accustomed to fights of this nature. If the west was slowly destroying them, it would take an equally powerful nation to help stop them. He did not like it, but he knew it had to be done. “I am going to Tavamara,” he said, and held up a hand as the advisors exploded into protest.

He could feel Wafai’s glare, and carefully did not look in that direction. “I am appointing Wafai to care for matters in my place, since he understands my thoughts better than anyone. Of course he will consult with my advisors.”

This time he let the protests rage for a bit, but still he did not look at Wafai. “No,” he said, countering the most prevalent of the protests. “No one else can go. I know people there, people who will listen to me. I carry the authority of a Sheik of the Desert. I am going. That is the end of the matter. Now listen to my orders, for if they are disobeyed then I will not go lightly in punishing those who decided to disregard what I am about to say. Locate all the Tribes we possibly can. Bring them by night to our home. Build up the defenses. No one leaves. There will be no fighting among the Tribes. So long as they take refuge with Ghost, my word is law. Lock up those who protest but be reasonable. I do not want to return to find that the Desert has done the west’s work for them. Am I understood?”

“Sandstorm Sheik,” the men all said, bowing over the table. “Body, mind, soul,” one said. “May the Lady guide and protect you.”

“May the Lady guard her children and guide me to the help we need.” He dismissed the advisors and braced himself as the last one left.

Wafai’s voice was hard. “I have never so badly wanted to kill you. What foolishness is this? If we lose you, Sahayl, we lose everything. At the very least you should let me go with you!”

“Wafai,” Sahayl said, taking his friend’s hand. “You are the only one in this entire camp that I completely trust. You must stay here, or everything will devolve into bloodshed. Please?”

“As if I could tell you no,” Wafai said with a sight, and embraced him hard. “Hurry back, my Sandstorm Sheik. We sorely need a good leader, and I am not that.”

Sahayl nodded. “I will return, and with help.”

“Let me go with you,” Isra spoke up from the far side of the room, where he’d sat quietly while the meeting took place. “I spent several years in Tavamara, attending school. I can help. I also understand what Hadge is doing better than you.”

“You are not fit for travel,” Wafai said.

“I traveled here while still bleeding,” Isra snapped. “If you imply one more time that I am weak, protector, you will learn how wrong you are.”

“Peace,” Sahayl said. “Both of you. We have enough enemies.”

“Peace,” Wafai said begrudgingly.

Sahayl smiled suddenly. “There is one more thing I must do, before I leave. Wafai, come.” He stood up and strode from the tent, and beckoned Kahlil close. “Kahlil, stand as witness.”

“My Sheik?” Kahlil said, puzzled.

“I hereby dissolve my marriage to the Lady Rafiqa, with all honor and affection and no ill will, and bid her marry the man of her heart with my full blessing and that of the Lady. Please see that she is so informed when you reach home.” He smiled at Wafai, who stared back, stunned, and then returned the smile.

Kahlil blinked, started to speak, then simply shook his head – then nodded. “Yes, my Sheik. The men were wondering when a ceremony would take place to honor the dead.”

“When the war is over, because I am certain there will far more to honor,” Sahayl said, momentary levity fading. He gripped Wafai’s arm. “Tell her I said hello, and that she’d better be as mean to you as she was to me. I must pack. Your role as my voice begins now.”

“Yes, my Sandstorm Sheik.”



Ten

“So you studied in Tavamara?” Sahayl asked, breaking the silence that hung between them.

Isra looked up as the question broke into his thoughts, and stared a moment before finally answering. “Yes. My uncle thought it would be a good idea to send someone to learn foreign customs. I spent time in Tavamara and Lavarre.” His uncle’s theory being that a half-breed would have an easier time of it than someone of full Desert blood. He’d been wrong, but Isra had found ways of earning – demanding – respect.

It hadn’t hurt, at least in Tavamara, that he’d somehow wound up best friends with the son of the King’s Advisor. Which brought thoughts of Shihab back to the forefront of his mind, along with every other worry preying upon him.

O course Shihab would pick now of all times to do one of his disappearing acts. Hopefully that’s all it was. With the Tribes in such upheaval, anything could have happened to him. Stupid idiot. He let his gaze fall back to the pool of water, which rippled softly in the cool evening breeze, breaking the reflection of the moon.

“We should go,” Sahayl said, standing and brushing sand from his clothes.

Isra nodded in agreement and mounted up, then followed Sahayl from the small oasis that the Ghost Sheik had warned would be the last for some time. They rode at a steady pace, wanting to get as far as they could without tiring the horses unnecessarily.

“I envy your knowledge,” Sahayl said. “I once suggested we do something similar. My father did not care for the idea.” The tone of his voice changed as he spoke, but Isra could not put a name to the change.

He tamped down on his curiosity and wondered morosely when he’d started being curious about Sahayl. He started to say something about how he wasn’t surprised Sheik Hashim would reject such an idea – then remembered that Hashim was Sheik no longer. His uncle might accuse him of never considering his words, but even he wouldn’t be that cruel – especially to an enemy who could easily have killed him and his Tribe. “So we have eight days of travel left?”

“If we ride hard, we could probably make it in six.”

Isra nodded. It really was a pity Shihab was off playing shadow somewhere in the Desert. He’d never cared who Shihab was, but right now they could sorely use the connection his friend had to the royal palace. Even if Sahayl claimed to know people, it would still take more time than he liked for two desert savages to gain access to people who would listen to them.

“If you’ve never been out of the Desert, how did you meet anyone in the palace?” he asked.

Sahayl shrugged. “A former Cobra used to tutor me. We remain in touch, and from time to time he has called upon Ghost for assistance.”

Isra blinked. A former Cobra. “You know Ikram? The King’s Advisor?”

“Yes,” Sahayl said, and Isra could hear the amusement in his voice. “How do you know him?”

“I’m friends with his son,” Isra said. “We met in school.” The world, it seemed, was not as large as it seemed.

Sahayl laughed softly, but said nothing more. Isra didn’t break the silence that fell, content to return to his own thoughts.

Even if they were far from pleasant. Less than two weeks ago he’d wanted nothing more than to kill this man. All of Ghost. Then again, less than two weeks ago much of his Tribe had been alive and healthy. Now Falcon and more were being led by Ghost…where? He realized suddenly that all Sahayl and the other Ghost had ever said was ‘home’. “Where’s home?” he asked. “Ghost doesn’t have a home.”

Another soft laugh, but the sound was surprisingly…warm. Not like the mocking laughs Sahayl always used in battle. “There are always people who need a place they can rest indefinitely. The very young. The very old. The sick. Even Ghost must have such a place. Our home is toward the west, lost amongst the Broken Cliffs.”

“No one goes that way anymore,” Isra said. “It’s desolate. Completely barren.”

“Is it?” Sahayl said. “You might be surprised. We’ve made our home within the ruins of an old palace there. Of courser, we have also worked hard to make sure no one goes that way.”

Isra drew a sharp breath – not least of all because Sahayl had just told him a secret that came with a penalty of death for revealing. But more than even that was what Sahayl was revealing. “The Broken Palace? But that’s a myth.”

“It’s very old,” Sahayl replied. “Nothing but sand and Ghosts dwell in it now.”

The words took a moment to fall into place, then Isra started laughing despite himself. “I see.” His laughter faded, however, as it truly struck him what Sahayl had done. The Ghost Sheik had put the livelihood of his Tribe at risk. If one thing went wrong, Ghost would be the first to die. A Tribe without a place to hide was a dead Tribe. “You risk much,” he said softly, “for Tribes that do not deserve it.” One hand went to his scar, which seemed suddenly to burn.

“No one deserves to die,” Sahayl said. “Nor will I let western heathens interfere in the Desert. If I must sacrifice everything, I will do so.”

Even his Tribe. Isra wondered if his honored uncle would have done such a thing. He wasn’t so certain. Jabbar would go far to save Falcon, but even at the last he hadn’t been willing to send Isra for help – if and when Isra returned, he would be in deep trouble for revealing Falcon’s location. Even if it had been to save them.

It had also been remarkable just how unprotesting Ghost had been of Sahayl’s orders. Not one had threatened to disobey the Ghost Sheik, though they would have been fully within their rights to do so in the face of such a life-threatening order.

Isra didn’t like where all these thoughts were leading him. He wished desperately to return to the days when he’d wanted nothing more than to kill the man who rode beside him, to a time when he would never have trusted the Ghost Sheik to be this close, especially in the dark. When he didn’t think of him as Sahayl.

Why couldn’t the Desert have just let him die? Instead here he was traveling beside Sahayl, body aching from fighting and running and worrying, mind and soul aching from everything else.

“Saa, desert rose,” Sahayl broke into his thoughts. “Silence does not suit you.”

“How would you know?” Isra snapped irritably. “And don’t call me that!”

Sahayl was quiet a moment. “I suppose I wouldn’t.,” he said at last. “Forgive me the name, I am afraid it’s become habit to refer to you so, as I did not know your name until recently.”

Isra hunched his shoulders, furious that he felt bad. “I’m not usually quiet,” he admitted begrudgingly. “However, I’m at a loss as to what to discuss with an enemy.” For six more days. He was going to go insane.

“Saa, that is a dilemma. I suppose one could tell a curious former enemy how he came by such eyes. Surely even in the west, eyes the color of the sky are not common.”

“Former enemy? I don’t know that I’d go that far. A temporary alliance, perhaps.” The question about his family was borderline rude – if the man wasn’t a Sheik, he’d never get away with it. He didn’t take offense though; this was the first time anyone had asked instead of making rude insinuations. Which were usually correct, but that wasn’t the point. “My mother ran off to the west. For whatever reason, she had no love for the Desert. She fell in love, or at least in lust, with a man there. When he used and then left her, she ran back home. I was born, and shortly after she ran off again.”

“It was rude of me to ask,” Sahayl replied. “But your eyes have intrigued me sense I first saw them. I met another, once, who had similarly-colored eyes. He was western, however. I am sorry your mother had no love for the Sands. It sounds like you have her spirit, however.”

Isra grunted. Spirit. That was the nicest he’d ever heard it put. When he’d brought Shihab in as his tutor and lover, they’d said he had far too many things in common with her.

Blue eyes were common enough in the west. He could appreciate how they would be intriguing in the Desert, but ‘the color of the sky’ was a bit much. He’d much rather have eyes like Sahayl’s, such a rich dark gold, marking him clearly as a son of the Lady. “What of your mother, then?”

“My mother was perhaps too soft for the Sands,” Sahayl replied. “She gave up on this life many years ago.”

Hmm. There was more to the story, but Isra couldn’t say why he thought that. Perhaps because of his aunt. The wife of the Falcon Sheik would never be described as soft. No woman in such a position should ever be. It seemed strange that Sahayl was raised by a weak woman, and that his father had married such a woman.

They fell silent again, and Isra wondered if he wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what to say.

It was going to be a long six days.




“Another three days,” Sahayl said, and Isra could tell he was suppressing a yawn. To cut off as much as their journey as possible, they were resting only long enough to ensure the horses didn’t suffer and they didn’t fall off the horses.

Isra hoped their efforts paid off, but he didn’t’ think he’d be certain they had until everything was truly over and he was safely hidden in the Desert again.

The sun shone bright and hot but it was still midmorning – they wouldn’t stop until midday, when they could rest through the worst of the heat. This close to the edge of the Desert, there would be more springs.

“There,” Sahayl said, pointing off into the distance.

Isra looked and let out a sigh of relief. Speaking of springs.

“It will be nice to rest where there is fresh water,” Sahayl said

What Isra really wanted was to be in Tavamara. Three days had passed and still it was awkward between them. Which only made sense, but still it made long days that much longer. Even if one day they would be enemies again, it would have been nice if they’d been able to talk for a few days. Or if he’d been able to at least antagonize the man. The Lady mocked him, forcing him to behave for so long.

They continued on in the stiff silence that had dominated their journey, and Isra resisted the urge to make his horse go faster simply to get to the small speck of green and fall asleep for a few hours.

Except when they finally reached it, it was obvious sleep was not going to be possible. Two horses were already there, and as they drew closer to the spring itself Isra saw two men waiting with weapons drawn.

His eyes landed on the shorter of the two men, drawing a breath as he saw the man’s eyes were a stunning green. “Shihab!” he cried without thinking, all but throwing himself off his horse and throwing himself at the other man, who ran toward him and caught him up in a tight embrace. They pulled far enough apart to remove their head coverings, then embraced again. “I’m so glad to see you alive and whole.”

Shihab grabbed his face and kissed him. “You too, Isra. We’ve been traveling hard, but I’ve heard things. How is the Sheik?”

“Wounded but alive. We lost several, but the Tribe is still strong.” Isra suddenly recalled himself and turned toward Sahayl, who stood quietly nearby, a pensive frown on his handsome face. “This is—“ he said, but didn’t get a chance to finish as the man with Shihab tugged away his own head wrap and face cover.

Sahayl’s sword hissed against leather as he drew it. “You,” he said, starring at the stranger. “You bear the marks of the men who attacked my Tribe without cause. Who are you?” He looked at Shihab. “And this man, who looks western but acts like a son of the Desert.” His gold eyes locked on Isra. “What is going on here?”

“My Tribe attacked yours?” the unknown man asked, and Isra was surprised at how utterly devastated the man looked. Almost heartbroken. “When?” He started to say more, but stopped as Shihab held up a hand.

“We should start at the beginning, I think,” Shihab said. “Obviously we all have a great deal to explain.”

“Yes,” Isra agreed.

“Why don’t we start with introductions?” Shihab said. He turned to Sahayl. “You I recognize by your horse, Ghost Amir.”

“Ghost?” The stranger said, staring at Sahayl in surprise. “Truly?”

Isra shook his head. “Ghost Sheik,” he said, and wondered how he’d wound up taking up the duty normally covered by Sahayl’s protector – Sheik and Amir seldom introduced themselves to anyone, but this was a circumstance where he should.

“Lady ease your sorrow,” Shihab said to Sahayl, bowing his head. “I am Shihab, son of Ikram, son of Tavamara.”

“Ikram?” Sahayl asked, seeming to forget that he had drawn his sword. “He has spoken of you before. No wonder you seem a son of the Sands.” He frowned, looking almost hurt. “He did not tell me you were visiting the Desert.”

“My visit was to be a secret, Ghost Sheik,” Shihab said apologetically, bowing his head. “Though my father said that you have not been replying to his letters.”

Sahyal shook his head, looking grim. “I’ve received no letters of late. I would wager he had not been receiving mine.”

Shihab looked troubled and the brief conversation lapsed.

“Who are you?” Sahayl demanded, seeming to at last remember what had originally upset him.

“I am Bahadur, son of Galal…” the man’s shoulders sagged slightly, though he was clearly making an effort not to show how upset he was. “Former son of Jackal, son of the Lady of the Sands.”

Isra’s eyes widened. “Jackal?” he repeated. “But that Tribe is long dead.” He finally stopped and really looked at the man. He and Shihab were slender, Sahayl tended toward slender but was definitely well-muscled and filled out beneath his robes. This man was tall and wide – not a bulky sort of large like a cumbersome ox or something. No…he reminded Isra more of a warhorse. Something meant to fight. He had the dark, weather-roughened skin of the sons of the Desert. He wasn’t handsome, really, but definitely striking. His eyes were pale gold, a far lighter version of Sahayl’s. Like Sahayl, it was obvious this man was Desert – body, mind, and soul.

But it was his Tribal markings which really caught the eye. Across his forehead and cheeks was inked scrolling calligraphy. Isra wondered what it all meant; whatever the language, it was unique to Jackal. At the center of the calligraphy across his forehead was a small animal’s head – a jackal, obviously.

Shihab snorted. “You might be surprised how many dead tribes are still around.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re obviously familiar with them?” Isra asked, rolling his eyes.

“Former Jackal?” Sahayl asked sharply, interrupting Shihab.

Bahadur nodded, looking tired.

“Let’s sit down,” Shihab suggested. “There’s much to explain, on all our parts. Why are you here, Isra?” He looked at Sahayl. “With Ghost.”

Isra sighed. “As you say, there is much to explain.”

Sahayl sheathed his sword. “Then let us eat and talk.”





“There is still one thing you have not explained in all of this, Shihab,” Isra said, looking with dry amusement at his best friend. “Why you came out here to begin with.”

Shihab frowned. “I’m not allowed to say, not until I am home again and can report to his Majesty. Else I would tell you, brother of my soul.” He smirked suddenly. “Though if I were to disobey my orders for anyone it would be for you, oh beautiful desert rose.” He ducked as Isra threw a rock at his head, laughing hard.

“I hate you,” Isra said with feeling.

“Yes, I know,” Shihab said. “But you can’t kill me until after I make my report. I didn’t play shadow for nearly five years just to let you kill me three days from Tavamara’s border.”

Isra grumbled and eyed Bahadur. “I don’t see why you couldn’t leave him tied up.”

“He is very hard to say no to,” Bahadur said with a wry smile.

“No, he’s not,” Isra said, rolling his eyes and lobbing another small rock at Shihab’s head, making a face when he dodged it.

Sahayl eyed them all, shaking his head slightly. “So you are truly the shadow Wafai and I encountered?”

“That’s me,” Shihab said.

“A shadow,” Sahayl said thoughtfully, “yet you look and act more like a fire. Some sort of shadowfire, then?”

Shihab beamed. “Thank you.”

Isra groaned. “Don’t say stuff like that to him. It goes straight to his head. He’s already intolerable after sneaking into the camp of every single Tribe in the Desert.”

“Almost every,” Shihab corrected with false humility. “I never got to some, and Ghost – I gave up ages ago.”

Sahayl gave a brief, proud smile. “It is good to know that amidst so many problems, Ghost remained impossible to find.” It turned sad. “Even if that is no longer true.”

“So you’re really inviting Tribes into Ghost’s sanctuary?” Shihab asked. “I still cannot believe it. So many Tribes have not been together in one place since the Broken Palace earned its name.”

“Not so many Tribes,” Sahayl said. “I am hoping they will manage to find a few, but most Tribes by now will be dead, too well hidden, or…”

“Or traitors,” Bahadur finished, his already rough voice harsh. “It is my deepest shame that the Tribe I once called mine was amongst those who would betray the Desert. I was on this journey to help them…” He glared at the sand, unable to look up at all of them.

Sahayl looked at him thoughtfully. “The journey is not over yet.”

“Yes, Ghost Sheik.” Bahadur did not look comforted by the words.

Sahayl continued to regard him pensively for a moment, then took a sip of water and smiled faintly. “This is proving to be an interesting journey.”

“A long one at any rate,” Isra groused.

Comments

[wobblygoblin.livejournal.com]

I am quite vexed we were not provided with a gruesome account of the Ghost Sheik's death.

But I find myself mollified by your INSANE TALENT and dear, w00bie Sahayl.