Sandstorm

[maderr]

Never did get to the chapter I was supposed add between this one and the next. So only one chapter for now, and I'll try to have the other one done by Wed/Thurs.

Of course, I'm fast running out of completed chaptes, which means I'd better get cracking.

Aaaand I'm like four birthday stories behind now. *shakes head* ah, well.



Thirteen

Even with his headache, Sahayl felt much like he was in some strange dreamland.

The beautiful palace, the previous night’s dinner that he would not soon forget, the handsome men that surrounded the King, every one of them so devoted and enamored it almost hurt to see. So much that would never survive in the rough life of the Tribes, taken so completely for granted by those who dwelt in the palace.

So much green; the gardens had left him gawking, the fountains had horrified and fascinated.

Truly he had not expected any of this when he’d determined to visit King Shahjahan.

It was little wonder Ikram so dearly loved his life in Tavamara.

But as beautiful and magnificent as it was, Sahayl already ached to be home. He did not mind the days he spent here, so long as they remained only that – a few days. He missed the sun and the sand, the dark shade of his tent and the familiar sounds of his Tribe working diligently throughout the camp.

He wished Wafai were here with him, to make light of everything. Even with his father’s brutal treatment and cold words, Sahayl had never felt anything less than an Amir who would someday be Sheik. He was used to being in charge, as exhausting a burden as it was. Here, he felt much like a child.

Like at dinner.

Lady have mercy on him, he hoped the meeting with the King he was headed for would not be like last night. It had been fun, but it felt in every way foolish to be fed by another like he was a babe incapable of doing it himself. Though…in the privacy of his own head, he had not minded the one time Isra had shared his own wine, determined to prove Nanda wrong. That hadn’t felt silly. It had felt more like…something was being shared.

Sahayl forced his thoughts to stop wandering, and turned them back to fretting. As the meal had drawn to an end, Shah had requested that they speak together privately over breakfast. The King’s eyes had been even more intense than usual, and Sahayl had slept restlessly wondering what the King was up to.

Because it was obvious he was up to something, and whatever it was relied upon Sahayl – though why, he couldn’t begin to imagine. Nor did he particularly care, so long as it helped the Desert.

The meeting wasn’t until late morning, still two hours away, but a lifetime of habit had forced him to rise early and he was far too restless to remain in his room. If he went where he shouldn’t, hopefully someone would tell him so. But as he passed several guards and a smattering of servants, none did more than bow low and occasionally stare – and several maids he head burst into whispers once they were past.

He truly wanted nothing more than to take Bloodmoon and race back into the Sands.

Stifling a sigh, hating to sound so ungrateful even in his own head, Sahayl continued wandering the halls, admiring and marveling over statues and paintings, mosaics in the floor and hangings on the wall.

To think all this was completely normal for so many people. No wonder they considered his people savage.

“Is my Lord looking for something in particular?” Sahayl turned at the sound of a voice, and stared for a moment at the guard who had spoken. Until then, they had all been silent. He looked quite young, surely not more than sixteen or so, which surprised Sahayl.

From the looks of the other guards, the young man was probably not supposed to be speaking. It also looked as though he would be reminded of that once Sahayl was out of sight.

“Merely wandering,” Sahayl said. “I am afraid I do not quite know where to go. Should I not be here?”

“My Lord may go wherever he wishes,” the young guard said with a low bow. “If my Lord is perhaps looking for rooms of interest, he could go right to find the King’s Gardens – which his Majesty has commanded you are free to treat as your own. Or to the left my Lord will find the royal library. I would not be surprised if my Lord encountered one or two of his companions there, if it is a familiar face you seek.”

Sahayl smiled. “What is your name?”

The guard looked surprised, and quickly covered it up with another bow. “Heydar, my lord. A humble member his Majesty’s guard.” There was a sound of coughing, as if in a vain attempt to suppress a laugh, from a nearby guard.

“Quite young.”

“Yes, I am merely a cadet. My Lord flatters me with his questions.”

Sahayl shook his head. “I thank you for your assistance, Heydar of the King’s Guard. I hope doing so has not brought you trouble. Lady grant peace to your day and dreams.” Nodding, Sahayl turned and continued down the hallway, turning left when he reached the end of it.

At the end of the new hallway was a massive set of double doors, with men in the cream robes and red sashes of those who guarded the halls of the palace. As he approached they bowed low, then grasped the handles of the doors and pulled them open for him. Nodding and murmuring a thank you, Sahayl stepped inside.

And stared. “By the Lady…” he said softly, hardly daring to wander further into the enormous room. Only once had he ever seen so many books, and these were not as ravaged by heat and years of abuse as those at the Broken Palace. Though his Tribe had always done their best to care for what remained of the ruins, fighting the Lady herself was a great task. Many of the shelves there were filled only with sand and dust, the nests of rodents and insects.

These though….this is what the Broken Palace had looked like once. Even the arrangement of the room was identical. So strange. He felt more lost in a dreamland than ever.

“Ghost Sheik?”

Sahayl turned. “Ah. Good morning, Shihab.”

“What brings you here?”

“I’m far too used to rising early to attend to Tribe matters. Here I am quite useless, so I thought to explore. A guard suggested I come this way.”

“A guard?” Shihab said, brows going up. “Well, come and breakfast with us.” He winked. “You can see what I was doing in the Desert as well.”

Sahayl nodded and followed, unable to keep his eyes from wandering as they should not.

Shihab was easily the most exotic man he’d ever seen. Even Witcher had nothing on the strange beauty of Shihab. That dark red hair, the stunning green eyes, both a strange contrast to his sun-dark skin. He looked like a wild desert spirit from the old stories of the Lady and her various children.

It made him feel guilty, to look so at Shihab when last night he’d had a hard time letting go of thoughts of Isra, who seemed to dislike him no matter what.

But Falcon and Ghost had been enemies for longer than he cared to remember. On top of that, Isra was extremely proud. It no doubt chafed that he had been forced to rely upon Ghost – and Sahayl – to save his Tribe.

A true pity, but probably just as well. Sahayl knew where his thoughts were straying, where the beautiful Isra was concerned, and there was nothing down that road but more pain that he didn’t need. At least if Isra continued to hate him, it would never become a problem.

Shihab turned abruptly around as he led Sahayl beyond a last row of shelves and through an archway to a sunlit room beyond. The floor was all white tile, bright rugs scattered here and there. In the center of the room was a massive, oval-shaped table. Across it was spread what Shihab realized, after a moment, was an incomplete map. It looked as though the mapmaker had been interrupted in his work.

Then he stepped close enough to get a good look at it, and drew a sharp breath. “By the Lady…” He stared wide-eyed at Shihab, who smiled back – nervously, Sahayl realized. “This is a map of the Desert. How did you do this?”

“The little shadowfire has been sneaking around the Desert for the past five years,” Bahadur said from where he’d been sitting at a smaller table off to the side. He bowed low to Sahayl “Ghost Sheik. Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

Sahayl smiled. “Quite well. And you, Bahadur?”

“Very well, thank you, Ghost Sheik.”

“So our shadowfire stole around the Desert to search out our secrets?” Sahayl asked idly, moving closer to the table, hand ghosting over the partially finished map. “Quite a task. How did you manage it?”

Shihab grinned, though there was still some anxiety in it. “I’m quite talented.”

“I’m sure the fact you drugged people before snooping around their tents helped,” Bahadur said dryly.

“Perhaps,” Shihab said. “But it didn’t help me scout or sneak through the camps. That was all me.”

Sahayl smiled, impressed despite himself. “Talented indeed, shadowfire.”

“I like when you call me that,” Shihab said suddenly. “I’ve never really had a nickname before. Except for epithets about how I don’t belong.” He made a face, but then smiled again. “I like being a shadowfire.”

“It suits you,” Sahayl said, not certain what else to say. He backed away, suddenly discomfited by how close Shihab suddenly seemed to be standing. He turned his attention back to the map. “How long will it take you to finish it?”

Something like a smirk flickered briefly on Shihab’s lips, then it was gone as he leaned over his map. “Not too long, provided I stop letting myself get distracted.” He chewed on his lower lip. “There are still many Tribes missing, so it will probably be years before its truly finished.” He looked sideways at Sahayl. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me the places where Ghost make their home? I know they don’t settle, but surely they must have regular stopping points? What of the location of the Broken Palace”

Sahayl chuckled and looked over the map for a moment, then tapped a drawing of cliffs not quite in the middle of the enormous Desert. “Here,” he said, “deep in the Broken Cliffs.” He smiled, eyes warming as he thought of the home he seldom saw. That hopefully he would see in a couple of weeks. “When you found me, I was actually noting how alike the Broken Palace and this one are – the libraries are even arranged the same.”

“Fascinating,” Shihab said. “Though not surprising given that Tavamara and the Desert were once one country.”

“Were they?” Sahayl asked. “I know they once held an alliance, there is enough left in the Broken Palace to tell that much.”

Bahadur interrupted before Shihab could launch into the explanation he clearly wanted to. “Have you had breakfast, Ghost Sheik?”

Sahayl shook his head. “No.”

“Then come eat with us,” Shihab replied, and guided him to the small table where Bahadur had been sitting earlier. “We’ve spiced tea, fruit and pastries. I can tell you what I know of how things used to be, before the wars that closed the Desert off.” He picked up his cup of tea and held it out. “Take my tea, Ghost Sheik. Please.”

Sahayl shook his head. “That is not necessary.”

“Please,” Shihab said, all but thrusting the cup into his hands. “It would honor me, Ghost Sheik.”

Nodding, slightly disconcerted though he knew not why – it was only a cup of tea – Sahayl accepted the cup and sipped at the tea. “It is not as strong as Desert tea, but I like it.” He smiled ruefully. “It soothes an aching head.”

Shihab threw his head back and laughed, the movement sending his hair spilling everywhere. Eventually his laughs subsided into soft chuckles, and he reached out to snag a sliver of a bright orange fruit. “Mango,” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve had it before.” He leaned up and forward to hold it to Sahayl’s mouth.

“I will never get used to being fed like a child,” Sahayl complained, but obediently accepted the piece of fruit, humming in pleasure at the smooth taste.

“Oh, I think you will,” Shihab murmured, green eyes bright with some secret mischief. He licked mango juice from his fingers, the gesture seemingly reflexive, then reached for a small bit of pastry and offered it to Sahayl. “We might even be able to teach Bahadur how to serve.”

“What?” Bahadur said, nearly choking on his tea. He frowned at Shihab. “I’m merely a clumsy soldier. Why would the Lady want me to learn such fine things?”

“Hardly clumsy,” Shihab said, propping his chin in one hand as he smirked at Bahadur. “Besides, once we begin dining at the main banquets, it would look strange to the others if you or Isra did not serve Sahayl. Shah will be sure to make them think that he is some form of Desert royalty, and it will undermine that authority if you and Isra do not treat him thus – serving him as the concubines serve the King and Queen.”

Bahadur looked at him. “We are to act like concubines?”

Shihab laughed again. “Not unless you want to. Merely loyal followers? So long as you do not make a slip like Isra did last night, that is all anyone will think you to be.”

“What slip?” Sahayl asked.

Smirk turning into a full-on mischievous grin, Shihab explained.

“That would explain why his mood so quickly soured,” Sahayl said, striving to remain unaffected by what Shihab had told him.

Intimate. Hardly. Isra had probably wanted to dump the wine on his head.

Which reminded him of the way Shihab had kissed Isra back in the Desert. “I had an impression, if you will pardon any unintended rudeness, that the two of you were…intimate.”

“We’re friends,” Shihab said, waving the question aside. “The Desert has rather strict policies on such liaisons, but Tavamara does not. Besides, sometimes ‘intimacy’ is the only way to calm that temper of his.” He waggled his eyebrows, eyes bright with humor and mischief.

Sahayl wondered if it was possible for Shihab to not look as though he were up to something. He rather thought not. “I wonder if perhaps it keeps you out of trouble, as well,” he said before he thought.

Shihab doubled over with laughter, red hair spilling onto the table and Sahayl barely resisted the urge to reach out and touch it. He forced his thoughts back to more important matters. “What were you going to tell me of Tavamara and the Desert?”

“Ah, yes. The feuding in the Desert has been going on for so long that no one remembers when it was different. Once, however, the Desert was part of Tavamara. They say that even further back, the Desert was much as it is now, but there is no way of knowing. Anyway – Tavamara once included the Desert, and the earliest tradition in those days was for the royal family to spend a portion of every year in the Desert, simply because its so enormous and some things cannot be dealt with at so great a distance. That is probably why the palaces are so similarly laid out – no doubt the Broken Palace was at one point an exact duplicate of this palace.” Shihab snagged another piece of mango and chewed slowly while he thought. “Eventually that tradition ceased, for whatever reasons, and instead of going himself every year the King appointed his brother to oversee the Desert in his place. It was many years after that the Desert War occurred, and turned the Desert into what it is now.”

Sahayl stared at his tea as he thought. Interesting. He finally looked up and started to speak, but the tolling of bells interrupted them, several deep ones ringing eight times, followed by much softer bells chiming three.

“A pity,” Shihab said. “But it sounds as though you must be on your way. You were to meet with Shah at the nine bells, yes?”

“Yes,” Sahayl said. “How did you know?”

“My father let it slip,” Shihab said with a wink. “Come back here when you’re done, I’ll give you a proper tour of the palace. Perhaps we can sneak down to the city later.”

Bahadur shook his head as Sahayl left, and Sahayl smiled as he heard them resume their friendly bickering.

He made his way through the maze of hallways, marveling that anyone who could familiarize themselves with all of it could turn around and call the Desert confusing. He paused briefly at an intersection, uncertain of his direction.

“Good morning, Ghost Sheik,” a familiar man said as he drew close. Aikhadour was his name, Sahayl recalled. “On your way to see Shah? Come, this way.” He smiled amiably as he led them down the rightmost hallway. “As you probably gathered last night, I was a simple monk when I first came to the palace. I got lost so many times it’s a wonder I ever found my way anywhere.” He shook his head in rueful amusement. “You can always ask the guards for help,” he said, motioning to the silent men lining the hallways. “I promise they only look sullen. They’re all more than happy to help.”

Sahayl chuckled. “One assisted me this morning, as a matter of fact.”

“Good,” Aikhadour said with a smile. “Here you are,” he said and bowed as he stopped in front of a door painted with the King’s Crest, and opened it after knocking briefly. “Have a good day, Ghost Sheik.” He smiled at Shah, who sat at a low table inside. “My King,” he said, then bowed once more before turning and striding back the way he’d come.

“Thank you,” Sahayl said after him before hesitantly stepping inside what seemed to be some sort of private parlor. Sunlight spilled in through a small window, but otherwise there was very little light.

“Sit, please, Ghost Sheik.” Shah said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you. I am greatly humbled by your generosity to the savages that have tumbled into your palace.”

Shah chuckled. “Hardly. You have made many things much easier for me, and I am about to repay it by making life much more complicated for you. Whatever generosities I can show you, I do so gladly.”

“All the same, Majesty.”

“Shah, please. I have thousands upon thousands of people to call me ‘King’ and ‘Majesty,’ there is no need for you to be one of them.” Shah smiled and stroked his short beard. “Formality is not necessary here.”

Sahayl nodded. “Then, please, you must call me Sahayl.” He hesitated, hands tracing the curve of the wine dish that had been set out and filled for him ahead of time, something the color of honey. Tavamara and their wines. He’d no idea there were so many different kinds in the world. “You are about to complicate my life?” He tilted his head. “How?”

“As we discussed last night, there are a great many problems between our two countries. They both appear to have the same source. I initially sent Shihab into the Desert to map it, so that if moving my troops into it became necessary, I would not waste time on a futile effort. I wanted to find the Tribes and offer them assistance, protection. My problems with the western nations are unending.” He fell silent a moment, fingers drumming on the table as he thought. “I would like our countries to cooperate, and ideally to reunite, but I do not wish to behave as the west does.”

Sahayl frowned. “Reunite? As they were before? Shihab was telling me about it this morning…”

“Precisely,” Shah said and handed over a scroll that had been lying in front of him on the table. “This is an ancient charter from before the War that drove the Tribes into hiding from one another. Our countries are, in fact, still technically one. It is only that after the War, order there and communications between Tavamara and the ‘Great’ Desert fell apart. Over the years, the unity faded. There was no leader there to hold everyone together. I would like to reinstate the unity between our countries but doing so would require a royal presence in the Desert. Someone I could trust, and who would work with me while ruling the Desert.”

“There is no such figure in the Desert,” Sahayl said. “The highest level of authority is Sheik, and there is one per Tribe. I do not think you will ever get the Sheiks to decide who among them is most fit to lead all the Tribes.” He shook his head slowly back and forth, thick curls brushing across his cheeks. “If you hoped I could offer suggestions, I am sorry.”

Shah chuckled. “As I said, I would need a royal presence. Someone related to me. As technically our countries are in fact still one, someone of royal blood could by all rights reclaim authority over the Desert.”

“But…” Sahayl frowned. “I fear I am missing something here.”

“I am being obtuse, forgive me.” Shah spread his hands wide. “My plan is to adopt you into my family – as my brother. I would have said son, but we are not even a decade apart in age.” Shah smiled. “That would make you a Prince, and more than fit to be my voice in the Desert. What say you?”

Sahayl barely kept his jaw from dropping. “Are you mad?” he said when he was able to speak. “I am not fit for such a thing.” Sudden grief washed over him, so sharp and hard he found it hard to breathe for a moment “The title of Amir was very nearly taken from me.”

“By your father?”

“Yes,” Sahayl said.

Shah tilted his head thoughtfully. “I did not know him and so I cannot say, nor will I insult the dead, but I feel perhaps he was mistaken in believing you inadequate. I do not think you appreciate just how powerful a leader you are.”

“I was formally declared the Amir at fifteen,” Sahayl said quietly. He’d assumed many responsibilities that day, and the beatings had started four years previous. “I am now nearly twice that.” He shook his head. “That hardly makes me fit to be a Prince. Commanding a Tribe is quite different from ruling a nation.” Quite different. Nor would it work. The Tribes would never come together under one leader. Every last Sheik would protest, and fight to be that one, and war would simply escalate out of control. It would take one man being backed by a majority of the Tribes – and those Tribes capable of putting down rebels. He had the backing of Ghost, and possibly – hopefully – Cobra. Falcon? Most likely not. “It would be a difficult task for an experienced man, never mind one who has been Sheik for only a matter of days – and one who is breaking every rule of the Desert by coming here.”

“As I have stated,” Shah said implacably, “you underestimate yourself. A man who is capable of winning the blind devotion of men who, by those rules you speak of, should be enemies…and I have heard many things of you from Shihab and Ikram. I feel you can do this.” Shah shrugged. “Beyond that, if you need more reasons, there is no one else to assume the role. We have not time to pick through all the Sheiks of the Desert to find which one might be best suited. Isra and Bahadur are good men, but they are not leaders. You are here, you are up to the task. It is, however, your decision, Sahayl. I take no real pleasure in being King, I will not force that life upon anyone.”

Sahayl looked out the window, dark gold eyes distant. “He said I was too soft. Were he alive now…” Sahayl struggled to repress a shudder of fear and remembered pain. Had he attempted this while his father lived, he would have found himself beaten to death.

“Your father…they called him the Crusher, yes?” Shas asked.

“Yes,” Sahayl replied. “As immovable as rock, and able to crush all those who threatened him as easily as rock breaks bone.”

Shah nodded. “If he was a rock, then I would say you are much like sand, hmm? That is to say, neither hard nor soft, strong because you shift.”

“Sand?” Sahayl repeated, breath catching in his throat. He smiled ever so faintly. “My people have always called me Sandstorm, for reasons both flattering and not.”

“Then I would say that settles the matter, no? A Sandstorm is precisely what the Desert needs.”

Slowly Sahayl nodded. “I am not so certain of that, but for the Desert and the Lady I shall try.”

“Excellent,” Shah said. He grinned, suddenly very boyish and every bit as mischievous as Shihab tended to be. “Now we must go inform the council.”