As of my arrival home
Feb. 20th, 2007 06:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrIt's a tie.
So I'm going Sandstorm, since I have three chapters of that ready and my beta was apparentlyslacking on freaking and spazzing over Meant to Be.
At least, I don't think I've posted 21 but if I have oh well. And the rest of the chapters are here.
Twenty-One
Sahayl surveyed the men gathered before. Zulfiqar and the Cobra he’d brought were perhaps the only ones who did not look furious about their presence in the courtroom.
That this was necessary depressed him. He could understand bickering, even the occasional brawl. After so many years of constant war, it was ridiculous to think it would simply stop. But to purposely, viciously beat a man for no reason?
It was the one thing he could not forgive.
“These are the ones who beat you, Shihab?”
“Yes, my Prince,” Shihab said quietly but firmly from where he sat beside Sahayl’s throne. Isra sat on the opposite side…so like Shah and his men, it was disconcerting to be the one in the throne now… Bahadur stood just two steps down from the rise upon which the throne sat, looming in that way he had over the malcontent crowd.
“Brothers,” Sahayl, addressing the prisoners, “Sons of the Desert. Give me one good reason I should not execute you all.” He kept his expression blank as his word rippled through them, the prisoners looking to their Sheiks for reassurance. But even the Scorpion Sheik, obviously displeased with Sahayl’s words, said nothing to reassure his men. “None? Have you any reasons to offer for doing what you did?”
“Heathen,” a Scorpion bit out. “Just look at him.”
Sahayl eyed the man coldly. “He is no heathen, and even if he were I made it clear he was under my protection. You’ve broken many laws in harming him and for what? What did you accomplish?”
There was no reply.
Zulfiqar stirred. “They have acted stupidly, Highness. One would think they had sand in place of brains, and while I am a firm believer in the laws that keep the Desert from outright mayhem – I feel perhaps execution would be extreme for this first offense. They were foolish and rash. I will support whatever punishment you exact, but I repeat that I think execution would be extreme.”
Sahayl nodded. “I agree – though if this happens again I will not stay my hand in that respect.” He looked at each of the offenders in turn. “Sons of the Desert, I have decided perhaps it would behoove you to leave the Desert for a time. You are banished from the Sands for a period of five years – one for each mark you have left that will never fade.” The faint slash across Shihab’s forehead, another down one thigh, across his left forearm, and two across his ribs. From rings, jewelry, where Shihab had encountered rough, sharp bits of broken stone.
There was a brief moment of stunned silence, and then everyone but Cobra exploded into protests, shouts of outrage. “You cannot do that,” the Scorpion Sheik said. “I was willing to let you punish them, as it was your man who was harmed, but to banish them from the Desert is going too far.”
“Too far?” Sahayl repeated. “Need I read you the laws? You seem to keep forgetting, Scorpion, that I am in charge – both a Prince with every right to the Desert, and the one who controls the Broken Palace. You should be grateful I am not killing him.”
“I would rather die than go live with heathens for five years! Even for five days,” a Scorpion declared, rising to his feet and struggling against the ropes that bound his arms behind his back. “I am a Son of the Lady of the Sands.”
“Then you should have acted as the Lady bid you, instead of beating a single man with four companions,” Sahayl replied. “Is that the act of brave and noble sons of the Desert?” He cut them off with a sharp motion and answered his own question. “No, it is not. It is the behavior of cowards. I will not tolerate it. You are banished. Tomorrow morning you will be escorted to the border of Tavamara, and from there escorted to the royal palace. My brother will decided what suits you best. If you commit a single wrong while you are there, my brother will punish you as he sees fit – and that includes execution. Remember that when you think to do what you should not – that if you commit a wrong too great, you will die in Tavamara and not in the arms of the Lady of the Sands.”
The men fell silent.
“Have you anything to say, my Sheiks?”
It was Zulfiqar who broke the silence first. “The sentence is fair, Highness.”
A moment later Fox nodded as well. “As you will, Highness. My men will heed the sentence.”
Scorpion remained silent for several more minutes, but just as Sahayl started to press him, he gave a curt nod. “As you say…Highness.”
“Then let them pack and say their farewells. I will trust you, my Sheiks, to ensure they do not try to flee.” He motioned them away. “You are free to go. Report to the northern border of the city at dawn.”
“Highness,” Zulfiqar replied, and hauled his man to his feet, rapidly departing the courtroom. The other two Sheiks were quick to do the same.
Shihab looked at Sahayl in amazement. “Banishment? And you’ve already worked it out with Shah? I thought we had trouble getting messages to him.”
Sahayl smiled. “I did not have the ability to use desert falcons before. Jabbar has been most helpful in the matter of relaying messages.”
Isra smirked.
“Oh, be quiet,” Shihab muttered, obviously annoyed with himself for not having figured it out. “How did you think of banishment? That was clever. It may even prove useful later, if they don’t waste all their time hating it.”
Sahayl sighed. “We can only hope they are not that foolish. Only the Lady and time can say. I hope you are content, shadowfire. As the one hurt, you had the right to demand their deaths.”
“Of course not,” Shihab said. “I’m alive and will be well with a few more days of rest. As the Cobra Sheik said – mostly they were just stupid. They were all young men….surely not more than twenty or so.” He made a face. “Which just goes to show how weak I really am.”
“Hardly weak, my shadowfire,” Sahayl said with a faint smile. “Five to one is difficult odds for any unarmed man. I think perhaps only Bahadur might have come out of that one the winner.” He smiled as Bahadur chuckled and came to sit with them.
“I think those Scorpions would have proved troublesome, my Prince,” Bahadur replied. He reached out to trace the bruise on Shihab’s cheek. “The Lady spared you broken bones, little shadowfire. That one Scorpion looked as though he could have accomplished the deed with little effort. I am surprised he did not put up a fight over the manner. From the look in his eye, he does not consider matters satisfactorily concluded.”
Shihab snorted. “He’s being banished, warhorse. I can see where that would displease him.”
“That is not what I meant and you know it, brat,” Bahadur replied.
Sahayl frowned pensively. “Scorpion is already under watch – no doubt they’re aware of some of the watchers, but they are not aware of all of them.” He smiled briefly, proudly. “Ghost is not called so simply because we inhabit the Broken Palace.”
“So when are you planning on leaving, Sahayl?” Shihab asked.
“We are pulling out tomorrow. Isra will be going in your place.”
Shihab made a face. “I’m going to go out of my mind just waiting here for everyone and doing absolutely nothing.”
“Knowing you, shadowfire,” Sahayl said teasingly, “you will find plenty of mischief to cause. I ask only that you stay in bed while you do it.”
Shihab grinned and stood up, moving carefully to sit on the armrest of Sahayl’s seat. “What happens if I get out of bed? Do I get punished, hmm? What sort of punishment are we discussing?”
Chuckling, Sahayl said nothing, merely shook his head and stood up, fingers tugging lightly at Shihab’s hair. “Behave.”
“Never” Shihab snagged his robe and yanked him back, tugging him down for a kiss. “Where are you going?”
Sahayl’s levity faded as he stood up, eyes sliding away, fastened on something only he could see. “There is…something I must do. I have been putting it off. If we are here for another day, I should…” He sighed softly. “I should be back by dark. If I’m not, no doubt I was dragged away to attend to something.” Smiling faintly, he turned and strode from the room before they could get more questions in.
Outside the smile turned into a pensive frown and he slowly made his way through the palace, dodging everyone he could, to a room at the farthest end of the palace. Once it had merely been a storeroom, but Ghost had long ago converted it to its present purpose.
The room had been expanded in size, and filled with myriad shelves. On those shelves were all the most recent dead. Eventually, when the fighting stopped for a time, they would hold the ceremony to honor the dead and then return the ashes to the Desert.
Sahayl stopped in front of the only urn in the room that bore than simple family markers – the urn that marked a Sheik. Larger, made of gold and set with a ruby that was the stone always wore by Sheiks and Amirs. Later it would be set in a room of commemoration alongside all the other Ghost Sheiks, so that all would remember Hashim and his place in Ghost’s history.
But what was that place? He had earned Ghost more enemies than friends, something which was not necessarily bad but which the rest of Ghost had secretly disagreed with. Hashim had been known for his brutality, the way he crushed all those who stood in his way.
Even his wife and son.
Sahayl stared at the carefully carved name, unable to recall anything but the moment he’d realized his father was dead – the first thing he’d felt had been relief. It was a terrible, shameful thing. Hashim had been his father above all else, he should not have been glad he was dead.
“Do you miss him?” Isra asked softly as he drew up beside Sahayl, idly brushing back strands of his fine, black hair, blue eyes intent on Sahayl. “I don’t think I would.”
“I…” Sahayl struggled for what to say. He’d intended to do this alone, had thought he needed to do it alone, but now that Isra was here…maybe alone was the very last thing he’d wanted or needed. “I don’t know. He was my father.”
“He was your father so you should?” Isra snorted softly. “I never knew my parents. The things I heard about my mother were seldom nice and Witcher told me our father was even worse. I certainly don’t miss them, and if my mother is still alive I have no desire to see her. I don’t owe anything to people who should have been there for me but weren’t. Your father…certainly doesn’t deserve the torment you’re obviously going through.”
Sahayl said nothing, Isra’s words tumbling around in his head. “He wasn’t always bad.”
“Neither was my mother,” Isra replied.
“I…” Sahayl reached out to touch the ruby set into the urn, but stopped at the last moment at the sight of the gold signet on his finger where the Ghost Sheik ring should be. Zulfiqar had said his father would be proud…
…But if Hashim were still alive, he never would have agreed to let other Tribes into the Broken Palace. He would have refused to let Sahayl go to Tavamara for help…and if Sahayl had defied him, he likely would not have survived Hashim’s beating upon his return.
Nor would he have been able to return a Prince.
Even assuming he had managed everything, Hashim wouldn’t have been proud – he would have pleased with the sudden increase in his own power, would have used it towards his own ends.
So it was better, in the end, that Hashim was dead. He had control of Ghost, Wafai, Noor, and Kahlil were able to fully exercise their own authority, were finally flourishing as they should have always been able to…he was a Prince, was helping the Desert.
Everything was better with Hashim dead.
Sahayl curled his hand into a fist. His chest ached, felt tight.
“You really do miss him, don’t you?”
“I just…” Sahayl fell silent again, afraid he wouldn’t be able to finish the sentence. He gasped as Isra suddenly wrapped around him, held him tight, head resting in the hollow of his shoulder so that he could feel Isra’s breath on his skin. “Saa, desert rose…I just wanted him not to hate me.”
Isra laughed softly, warm against Sahayl’s throat. “No one could hate you, Sahayl. I should know. I tried rather hard to hate you and look where I am now. My impression of Hashim is that if he’d hated you, he would have simply killed you. Or cast you out, like my father did my mother. He kept you Amir – that has to count for something.”
“He had no other sons and was too proud to name someone outside the family Amir. It is as simple as that.” He’d thought it meant something more, once, but pride had driven almost everything Hashim did. Pride had demanded he somehow mold – beat – his son into his image. Or, failing that, into submission.
A soft sigh broke into his thoughts. “Sahayl…has anyone ever told you that you think too much? My honored uncle loves to rail at me for never thinking enough – you are the exact opposite. Too complicated. Hashim died fighting, and you have gone from being Ghost Sheik to Desert Prince in a matter of weeks. Something to be proud of, and he would be proud of that. So stop standing around in this gloomy room already and come keep Shihab from trying to make me play taaki again because I swear to the Lady I will shove every last tile down his throat—“
Sahayl laughed, cutting off Isra’s words. “You have no patience, desert rose. That is why he always bests you.”
“He’s cheating,” Isra said adamantly. “Now come distract him.”
“As you wish,” Sahayl said, smiling softly as Isra leaned up to kiss him, still unable to believe that this man was his to keep. Not so long ago they’d been enemies…would he someday wake up and find they still were?
Isra tugged him out of the room, wrapping an arm around his waist, fingers idly tracing along his side. “You don’t speak much about your mother. She gave you those curls, and she was kind…”
“My mother…” Sahayl looked out across the desert as they walked down a covered walkway toward the wing where his rooms were located. “Her mother was captured by us in a raid…Fox, I believe. She eventually married a Ghost and gave birth to my mother, who grew up surrounded by her own mother’s bitterness. Understandable, of course…” Raids were not as common as they had been, but they were necessary. Ghost had lost as many women and children as it had gained. “It drove her, I guess, to be exactly opposite. Quiet, accommodating, accepting…willing to tolerate anything to avoid unhappiness. Because she was born into an old family of good standing – Kahlil is her nephew, actually – it was arranged that she would marry my father.
“She endured my father’s brutality far longer than I…he did not…start on me until I was about eleven, and that only because I refused to ‘put Wafai in his place’ as my father said I should, after we argued. Over what, I no longer remember. It was then my father started believing me too soft…just a few years later my mother finally gave up. Between her parents and her marriage, she simply couldn’t bear it anymore…” He finally braved a look at Isra, recognizing the stubborn set to his jaw, the way those blue, blue eyes flared as he fought not to say what he was thinking. “You think my mother was weak,” he said for Isra.
Isra shrugged. “I don’t think she should have left you alone.” He made a face. “On the positive side, at least she chose a respectable way out. My mother is somewhere in the west playing Desert whore – though I suppose she could be dead by this point.” His face hardened briefly.
“Do you really not care about your parents, desert rose?”
“No,” Isra said firmly, “I don’t. They didn’t care about me, why should I care about them? Everything they should have done, my honored uncle and aunt did instead. My mother could have stayed and raised me; the Tribe was willing to give her another chance. She ran off to find another pretty face. My father apparently jumped from bed to bed. What should I care about?
Sahayl chuckled. “So decisive, desert rose. I wish my mind was as easily made up.”
Isra snorted. “Stop thinking so much.”
“Saa, but too much thinking is why I’ve come closer to beating Shihab at taaki than you or Bahadur.”
“He cheats!” Isra said, all but stamping his foot.
“Do not!” Shihab bellowed from the table as Isra and Sahayl stepped inside. “It’s not my fault you’re hopeless at anything requiring thought.”
“Be quiet or I’ll give you a fresh set of bruises.”
Sahayl shared a brief look with Bahadur, then held Isra tight to keep him from going after Shihab, who was asking for it, really, but Sahayl could see by the tight lines of his face and the way he held himself that Shihab was still in a great deal of pain. “You should be resting, shadowfire, not enraging Isra.”
“But it’s my favorite thing to do,” Shihab said. “I’ll go rest if you’ll play a game with me…after tomorrow I’ll be here all alone, you know. Isra will be wreaking havoc with Falcon, Sahayl and Bahadur get to kick around a few heathens…and I’ll be all alone with my taaki board…”
“Brat,” Isra said, but obediently took his seat.
Sahayl took his own seat, directly across from Shihab, with Isra to his right and Bahadur to his left, and simply sat quietly and smiled as he listened to the other three bicker and talk, somber mood fading away.
Twenty-two
“Isra!” A soldier ran up to him, not trying very hard to hide a grin. “The Falcon Sheik requests that you dine with him this evening.”
“He requests that I dine with him?” Isra glared at his uncle’s tent. “You can tell my honored uncle that he’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is.” He rolled his eyes. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself. Stop laughing or you’ll be eating sand.”
“Yes, Isra,” the soldier said, and smothering a laugh he turned and ran off.
Isra handed his horse off to the nearby handler – who was also trying not to laugh – and stalked across camp to his uncle’s tent, ignoring the guards outside and striding right inside. “Having fun at my expense, are we?” He paused only to wash his hands and arms in the bowl just inside the entrance, then sat down heavily at the table, glaring at Jabbar.
Jabbar chuckled. “Well, you’ve moved so high up in the world now, nephew, I thought perhaps I should ask politely for your company.”
“I can’t imagine why you think you’re so amusing,” Isra groused, ignoring his uncle in favor of examining the food. All manner of dishes had been arranged – spicy meat, steamed vegetables, half a dozen kinds of pastries, some savory, some sweet. His stomach growled. “You must really want something.” He helped himself to the carafe of wine, drinking one dishful quickly and pouring a second to drink more slowly.
“Only an explanation, nephew, and believe it or not – I have been worried about you. When you left, I was not certain you would return, and I had no men to spare to bring you back.”
Isra winced, chastened. “I am sorry, honored uncle. I thought only of trying to find help…”
“You certainly found it,” Jabbar replied, sitting back and picking up his own wine dish, “and more besides, it would seem.”
“So it would seem,” Isra agreed, forcing himself not to fidget under Jabbar’s stare as he had so often growing up.
Jabbar laughed outright. “You are not getting out of this, Isra. I want to know how you went from hating the Ghost Sheik to becoming the Sandstorm Prince’s concubine.”
Isra could feel his cheeks heating, something only his uncle could ever do to him. “Only the Lady truly understands anything. I knew I should have refused to come here in Shihab’s place.” He finished his wine and poured more, then began to pick at the nearest tray of pastries – these stuffed with lamb, knowing his uncle.
“When I said I hoped you would find reason to stop hating, I certainly did not have this in mind, nephew. Leave it to you to find the most unique way to learn a lesson.” His eyes sparkled with mirth as he smiled fondly at Isra. “Now tell me or I’ll invite my wife to this meal as well.”
“That’s cheating!” Isra said, all but throwing his wine dish down on the table. “Don’t you dare! It’s none of her business.” He shuddered at the thought of what precisely his aunt would manage to get out of him. No matter how hard he tried, how well he thought he knew all her tricks…every single time she got everything she wanted out of him.
The woman was evil.
Jabbar snickered. “Then tell. What first changed your mind, hmm, nephew?”
Isra poured more wine, wishing he could just skip the dish and drink straight from the carafe – or for something stronger than Dark Spice. Desert wine, potent as it could be, was nowhere near strong enough for having to confess everything to his uncle.
Who would tell his aunt.
Who would tell the whole camp.
Lady bury them all in the Sands.
“I have been waiting many years to see this change in you, nephew,” Jabbar prodded.
Isra merely glared mutinously. “My personal life is none of your business.”
“He is handsome,” Jabbar goaded. “I saw Sheik Hashim’s face only a few times…not a pleasant fellow.”
“At least he didn’t nearly outweigh his horse,” Isra retorted.
Jabbar threw his head back and laughed. “Insults will not distract me, nephew. I am having far too much fun with you.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Isra said sourly. He nibbled at a bit of fruit while Jabbar laughed, contemplating whether to leave or throw all the food at his honored uncle first.
“If you throw something at me, Isra, I will leave you to your aunt’s devices. As I was saying --- the Prince is quite handsome. He must get his looks from his mother.”
Isra shrugged and snagged another lamb-stuffed pastry, struggling not to think about Sahayl – whom he suddenly realized he missed. Badly. Sahayl had gotten his hair from his mother, no doubt the rest had come from her as well. Certainly none of Hashim’s vile personality was in his son.
Jabbar’s smug voice broke into his thoughts. “Mind wandering, Isra?”
“I’m leaving,” Isra said, disgusted. He stormed to his feet. “I didn’t come along on this trip to be laughed at for the duration of it. We have work to do, and I am supposed to be scouting, not sitting here listening to you mock me for having come to care about Sahayl!”
“Sit down!” Jabbar’s voice cracked like a whip. Isra sat. “You will forgive your uncle his teasing, Isra. As I said, when last I saw you, you were angry with everyone in the Desert – including me. Your opinion then was that Ghost needed to die – especially the Ghost Amir. I despaired of ever getting through to you. Now you sit across from me the concubine of our new Desert Prince, and by your own admission have come to care about a man you wanted to kill. I am entitled to tease you – and you will tolerate it in good grace as all children should.”
Isra frowned at the table. “There must have been more days than I could ever count where you wanted to beat me senseless.”
Jabbar lifted one brow at the strange statement, but went along with it. “Isra, not a day goes by when a parent does not want to beat sense into his child.”
“Honored Uncle.—“ Isra jerked his head up in surprise.
“I do consider you my own, Isra. Surely you know that after all this time.”
Isra nodded, but did not speak, lowering his gaze back to the table.
“As I was saying – yes, there have been times when I wanted to knock some sense into that head of yours. There have been many days where I wanted to beat it into your cousins, and more still I wanted to wring my wife’s neck. Never do I want to know the number of times she has contemplated poisoning my food.” Jabbar chuckled softly. “However, confining you to your tent proved far more effective a means of punishment, and you know I would never harm you. Why do you say such strange things?”
Isra fiddled with his wine dish a moment, then finally looked up again. “This is not common knowledge, Uncle, and he would not want anyone to know who did not need to…but you asked when my mind changed…”
Jabbar’s brow furrowed in sudden concern.
“It started to change the day we were attacked by the men attempting to impersonate Ghost…before that fight, when I ran off after you and I argued. I encountered Sahayl in an oasis…”
“Yes,” Jabbar said slowly, “I remember. You said he had been beaten…” His eyes widened slightly as comprehension dawned.
Isra nodded, barely noticing, attention only for his memories, the night that had changed everything – and not so very long ago. “I figured out later, in Tavamara, that Hashim had been the one to beat him. That he’d been doing it since Sahayl was a boy.”
“By the Lady,” Jabbar said softly. “I have come to know him, as well as anyone can in a matter of several busy days…that does much to explain why a man his age acts more like one of my age.”
“There were other reasons, but that was the main one,” Isra said, and finally picked up his wine again.
Jabbar levity returned with a smirk. “Yes, I’m sure there were.”
“That’s none of your business,” Isra muttered, hating the way his cheeks burned. “Why are you so determined to pry into what I do in bed, honored uncle?” He tossed Jabbar a smirk of his own. “Looking for ideas?”
“Impertinent!” Jabbar said, laughing hard.
Isra fought a laugh. “Anything else you’d like to know, uncle?”
“I should like to have a word with young ‘Simon’ someday,” Jabbar replied dryly.
“I knew he was up to something, but I never asked what,” Isra replied, “and as much as I wish I could, I cannot tell you what I know.”
Jabbar waved the words away. “Of course, of course.” He stroked his beard. “I’m not yet finished with you, but I will relent for a time. Let us discuss what we’ll be doing in these coming days.” He set out a copy of the map with which Sahayl had entrusted him. “I still cannot believe the Prince has such a thing as this in his possession…” He shook his head. “We are planning to try and find these Tribes here. They are the most remote in this region, about as far from any border as it is possible to be, so hopefully they will not have been affected. Ideally we will persuade them to the Prince’s side…”
“You agreed to the whole Prince thing with surprising ease,” Isra interrupted. “I did not think you’d be so amenable to such a tactic, especially when you refused to seek help…”
“I refused help, Isra, because by that point it was clear we could not trust even those we have called allies for years now. The risk you took…under ordinary circumstance, nephew, I would have been hard pressed to turn away the insistence that I kick you out of Falcon.”
Isra nodded. “I knew that when I left.”
“Leave it to you, nephew, to return in a position where no one can touch you…figuratively and literally.” Jabbar smirked.
Isra rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. I find your interest in my love life disturbing, honored uncle.”
“I’m not interested in your romance, Isra, except insofar as I am enjoying seeing how far and fast you’ve fallen.” Jabbar poured himself more wine, then reached across the table to refill Isra’s dish. “Now, let us turn to business for a time.”
“Yes, honored uncle,” Isra replied, grateful to have the discussion over with – for now. “What are your plans?”
Jabbar sat back and sipped at his wine. “Noor and I spoke at length before I called you for dinner. Combing the entire desert would take months. We do not have months. Of the Tribes marked on the map with which the Prince trusted us, Noor and I have picked out half a dozen that are most likely to join us without too much trouble. They, hopefully, will branch out to others. Of those six, three are Tribes known in passing to either Falcon or Ghost, which will help. Even with all that, however, it will still take too long to find them all, talk, and bring them to the Broken Palace. So we have decided to break into three groups, and I’m—“
He was interrupted by the sound of a battle cry. Jabbar and Isra immediately sprang to their feet, snatching up their swords and bolting from the tent. The worst place to be in a fight was inside.
Outside, the camp had turned into chaos.
“Viper,” Jabbar snarled, and then there was no more talking as the enemy was upon them.
Bellowing a war cry, Isra ducked beneath an oncoming blade even as his own sword flashed, cutting the horse’s rider hard across the leg. The wound caused the man to falter, and Isra wasted no time mounting behind him and throwing the man off. Taking up the reins, he turned to the next enemy and fell into the blur of battle.
Some time later, he abruptly realized there was no one left who needed to be killed.
Rage was immediately replaced by fear, and he looked anxiously around the camp to see who had been lost. Hastily he dismounted the stolen horse, handing the reins off to a soldier who came shuffling tiredly toward him. Nodding a brief thanks, Isra plunged into the thick of the ruined camp, grief washing over him to see the fallen, heart sick as the one face he truly wanted to see did not appear – living or dead.
He hated worrying like this, no matter how many times he went into battle – no matter how many of those he might have helped start.
Would he see Sahayl fallen like this someday?
The sudden thought brought him up short, made him dizzy. For some reason that fear had never truly lodged…Isra thought suddenly that he finally really and truly understood what his honored uncle had been trying to beat into his head all these years.
“Isra!”
He jerked around sharply, hand going reflexively to his sword, but he calmed almost instantly as his uncle’s voice registered. “Honored Uncle,” he said in relief, and immediately returned the embrace Jabbar gave him. “Everyone else?”
“We lost fewer than expected,” Jabbar said, “but still too many. My concern is how Viper found us so quickly. We haven’t been here even half a day.” His expression was grim, and Isra’s matched it.
Jabbar turned away and began barking orders. Isra fell into step alongside him, quickly joined by the Falcon Amir and two other soldiers. “What have we learned?”
“Viper, definitely,” the Amir said grimly. “The markings are accurate and, like Cobra, they would be hard to duplicate in a short period of time – and I cannot imagine this many heathens willing to undergo something so permanent for the sake of a temporary disguise.”
Isra snorted. “Heathens couldn’t bear the pain anyway. Weaklings, all.”
Shaking his head at Isra, Jabbar motioned to the bodies that were slowly being gathered together. “I cannot believe Sons of the Lady would side with heathens against the Desert…but these are unmistakably Viper.”
“Pathetic,” Isra said coldly, and around him the other men murmured in agreement. He moved closer to the bodies and began to examine each of them, anxious for any clue or sign as to who exactly had managed to talk Jackal, Viper, and who knew how many other Tribes into such terrible behavior.
He hissed in surprise as yanking away a face covering revealed a mark he had not expected to see…and made his blood run cold. “Uncle,” he said urgently, already making plans on the fastest way to reach Sahayl.
Jabbar knelt beside him. “By the Lady!” he said, and quickly rose to his feet, snapping new orders, sending men scurrying.
“I am going to him,” Isra said, not willing to tolerate any argument.
“Of course,” Jabbar said. “Ride as fast as you dare, nephew.”
Isra nodded, and sprinted toward the horse that was already being brought to him, waiting impatiently as his supplies were loaded, quickly donning the travel gear brought to him. Jabbar approached and embraced him briefly.
“Send word when all is settled,” Jabbar said.
“I will, honored uncle,” Isra said, but the words were absently spoken, every fiber of him focused only on reaching Sahayl in time.
Because among the Tribes that had chosen to go with the Prince was Wasp, and among the Vipers they’d killed today was a man with the distinctive mark of Wasp carved into his throat.
Wasp was cooperating with Viper, or so it now had to be assumed.
Sahayl was in danger.
Isra urged his horse to a faster pace, just barely keeping from pushing him too hard in the blistering heat.
Above him came the cry of a falcon, and Isra drew his horse up short, holding out his arm and waiting patiently as the bird descended. He stroked her chest once she was settled, admiring her. One of the finest falcons in the camp, which was saying a great deal. His uncle had attached a missive, telling him where they were going next – now that it was obvious there was or had been a snitch in the camp.
It demonstrated just how consumed by fear he was that he’d raced off without learning such things. He would be distressed at such a blatant show of how much power Sahayl had over him, but there simply wasn’t time. Isra launched the falcon into the air, knowing it would stay close to him.
That his uncle would give him one of the best falcons in the Tribe said just how worried Jabbar was. They had anticipated betrayal, of course, more than a few Tribes had to have sided with the heathens…but that they’d let one of those get so close to the Prince while he was in the middle of the Desert…
Twenty-three
Bahadur stroked the calligraphy on his cheeks, wishing for the millionth time that he could eradicate them. Change them. Anything but leave them as they were. Constant marks of shame.
No one but Jackal could read them, of course, and he’d yet to see another Jackal since fleeing from his home, but he knew what they meant. That he’d failed, that his own family hadn’t wanted him after that failure.
That he was hardly fit, as capable a fighter he might be, as welcome as he obviously was, to be as close to his Sandstorm Prince as he was.
Sahayl requested his presence, however, and as unfit as he might be he would gladly obey.
Sighing softly, he turned back toward camp as he was relieved by the next guard. At the entrance he handed his horse over to one of the men assigned to horse duty, then began to make his way toward the center of camp and the Prince’s tent.
His steps slowed as he caught sight of the sparring taking place, looking on with longing at the way the men were able to have fun even while they were working hard. In Jackal, fights only ended when blood was spilled – usually only a nick, a minor wound, but there were some that only ended in death.
It was only by the Lady’s blessing that the duel for right to protect wasn’t fatal. At one point in Jackal’s history they had been. He touched the marks on his cheek, which sometimes felt more painful than any death could.
“Jackal!” A voice bellowed above the din of the sparring, and Bahadur jerked his head up. “Bahadur!” He faltered to a stop as he realized the soldiers really were calling to him.
“Yes?”
“You look like you know how to do more than hold a sword,” a Ghost with short, lighter brown hair beckoned him close. “Care to try your hand? We all know how we cheat.” The men standing around him laughed, nudging and goading each other.
Bahadur felt his lips twitch, wanting to smile. “You must cheat to win fights?”
The men laughed. “Only against each other. Like I said, we all know each other’s tricks. Care to test your mettle against a Ghost?”
“Do not complain if you find your tricks do not work,” Bahadur replied, his smile defeating his efforts to maintain his restrained manner.
The man who’d initially called out to him grinned and moved into the sparring circle. “Fair enough, but the same goes to you – don’t be mad if you lose to a Ghost.”
“I have never been afraid of phantoms,” Bahadur said and drew his sword. He hefted it as the Ghost attacked, blocking the swing, driving him back, bring his sword down hard, jarring the lighter man’s arms.
The Ghost laughed, winked, and renewed his attack – this time attacking with fervor.
Bahadur let himself go, forgetting everything but the fight, relishing that he did not have to worry about someone – his opponent or a spectator – using foul play to harm him. Because his fellow Jackals had never wanted to kill him, or at least rarely, but they had been plenty willing to harm him. Only a couple had never completely disliked him, but they’d only been interested in how he could keep them warm. In return, they’d offered information withheld from such lesser members of the Tribe.
How like the Lady to ensure that one of his midnight trysts had resulted in stumbling across the one man in the Desert who could lead him to help.
As well as to a Sheik, a Prince, worth following. Bahadur had never wished for anything as badly as he wished that he’d been born a Ghost and not a Jackal. He grunted as he blocked the latest swing from his opponent, and stepped forward, bringing his own sword down and then jerking it up sharply, taking his opponent by surprise, sending him crashing down hard into the sand.
“Defeat!” Wafai’s familiar voice called out the end of the match, then broke into laughter. “Tidily done, Jackal. You’re every bit the warhorse my Sandstorm Prince calls you after.” Wafai moved into the sand and helped the soldier to his feet, turning him in the direction of his comrades before turning back to face Bahadur. “Very well done, indeed.”
Bahadur grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. He wasn’t worth much, but he knew the skills he did have, and combat was definitely one of them.
“You must have given up much when you left Jackal.”
Smile fading, Bahadur gave a shrug and sheathed his sword. “Not really…” His hand went of its own volition to the calligraphy on his cheeks. “I was meant to be a protector, but I did not believe in the man I was meant to protect. I lost the duel.” And his honor with it, but he did not need to say that – it would be understood.
“I see,” Wafai said, a strange look flickering across his face.
Bahadur lifted a brow in question.
Around the perimeter, several men laughed. “Saa, Wafai. I think you might have a challenger. He certainly yells less than you!”
Wafai glared. “Knock that sand out of your head or I’ll do it for you! If you’ve got time enough to stand around trying to be clever, I’m sure Kahlil can find something to occupy your time.”
The men shut up.
Bahadur chuckled. “If I had been born Ghost, it is true I would have fought for the honor to protect our Sandstorm Prince.”
That strange look flickered across Wafai’s face again. “Then fight me now.”
Bahadur blinked. “What?”
“Fight me now,” Wafai repeated.
“I don’t understand. Sahayl could ask for no better protector than you.”
“Sahayl is the brother of my soul, and I will always be willing to die for him…but my responsibilities are greater now. By his command, I am charged with many duties – both in camp and back home at the palace. In addition, I have a wife now. My attention is being stretched in too many directions. I am no longer the best for role of protector. If you think you are fit, Jackal, then fight me for the honor.”
Bahadur could only stare for a moment. Finally he shook himself and drew his sword. “He will kill you.”
“He’s still in trouble for becoming a Prince without my permission,” Wafai retorted. “In this, he’ll do as we say. Let’s see what you can do against someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“Hey!” Bahadur’s earlier opponent bellowed in mock outrage from the sidelines. His friends snickered. “Jackal! Ground him into sand!”
Wafai rolled his eyes, then in a burst of movement drew his sword and attacked.
Bahadur barely countered in time, swords clashing loudly in the sudden silence that fell around them. He surged forward with a cry, their swords sliding apart, and moved his sword in an upward swing, arms jarring slightly as he clashed again with Wafai’s. He pulled back, then immediately surged forward again.
Then everything but the fight fell away, and he felt nothing but every swing, the way the sand moved beneath him, the sweat soaking his clothes, his hair. He let out a cry as he once more took the offensive away from Wafai, pouring his energy into it, thriving on a duel that was worth fighting.
Abruptly it was over, as he knelt over Wafai, who lay flat on the sand. He stopped, threw his sword aside. “You fight as ruthlessly as a Jackal…but Isra is right, you have a tendency to lower your guard.”
Wafai grunted and accepted the helping hand Bahadur held out. “You are the only two to ever say so.”
Around them the soldiers burst into cheers. “Aha! Way to bury Wafai!”
“That’s showing him!”
Wafai glared around the ring. “If you have that much energy, Ghost, draw your swords.”
The men laughed, but subsided.
“Clearly the discipline around here is not what it should be,” Wafai groused. He glared at the men once more for good measure, then turned back to Bahadur. “Jackal was stupid to let you go, Bahadur.” He smiled suddenly. “I’m glad I decided to give you and those other two a chance. Leave it to Sahayl to pick out all the misfits and troublemakers in the Desert.” He tugged a silver ring, set with a large amber stone, from his finger and tossed it to Bahadur. “Take care of him, protector. That dratted Falcon is too hotheaded, and the nonheathen is a schemer, not a fighter.” He eyed Bahadur pensively. “I assume you are to Sahayl what the other two are…Tavamara and its strange customs…take care of him.” He turned away, pointing to every man who had made some remark when Bahadur had defeated him. “Go relieve the guards on duty. Stay there until I say otherwise.”
The men groaned but obeyed, and in seconds the crowd had cleared as everyone set to finish their evening tasks before full dark fell.
“Where you going?” Bahadur asked. “Shouldn’t you tell Sahayl…?”
Wafai grinned. “You’re his protector now, you tell him. I’ve other duties to attend, and I want to run the perimeters myself.”
“Coward.”
Laughing, Wafai waved him off and vanished into the camp, calling for his horse.
Shaking his head, Bahadur retrieved his sword and slowly made his way to Sahayl’s tent. He stopped in front of it, bowing his head to the guard by the entrance as he passed through. “Sahayl?”
“Bahadur,” Sahayl greeted, smiling as he looked up from the reports he was reading over. “I heard quite the racket out there. Did they drag you into their sparring?” He looked wistful. “I miss having the time to spar. I swear the moment I finish one task, three more take its place.” He paused, frowning suddenly, and set his papers aside. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m…not certain. It happened rather quickly, and now I wonder if it’s what you would have wanted.”
“What I would have wanted?” Sahayl stood up from the low table he sat behind and crossed the large tent to Bahadur. “What’s wrong?”
Bahadur held out the ring Wafai had given him – too small, at present, for his finger. He would need to have it altered to fit him. But it was his…assuming Sahayl wanted him to have it.
“Wafai…” Sahayl said softly, touching the ring lying in Bahadur’s palm. “Where is he?”
“Checking the perimeter.”
“That coward. No doubt this is revenge for my going to Tavamara.” Sahayl finally looked up at him. “You truly want this responsibility?”
“Yes,” Bahadur said. “I am hardly worthy, my Sandstorm Prince—“
“You’re worth a great deal to me,” Sahayl interrupted, “and Wafai would never have chosen you as his replacement if he did not think you were worthy.” He smiled, dark eyes lightening with amusement. “I wonder if this was in Shihab’s plans.”
Bahadur chuckled. “I do not think your shadowfire could have anticipated this, for all that he seems sure of everything else.” He faltered suddenly, recalling exactly what Shihab had said – that he should be in Sahayl’s harem alongside Shihab and Isra.
“You needn’t be troubled by what he says,” Sahayl said. “I am still confused as to why they have assumed such roles. I doubt a warhorse wants to live his life trapped in a palace.”
Tonight was full of surprises. First he was invited to spar, when until that point Ghost had treated him with a sort of careful respect, then he was made Sahayl’s protector…now Sahayl seemed to be saying that he didn’t mind what Shihab had said at all. Unexpected.
Only a blind fool would not find Sahayl attractive, and watching him with Isra and Shihab had made him painfully aware of his somewhat outside status. He was also painfully curious – and how strange, to want three men at once. It was something he should feel guilty about…and it occurred to him, suddenly, that of course Sahayl would feel the same. Shihab and Isra had been raised differently, for all that Isra at least had been raised in the Desert. It was normal to them…very much not for sons of the Desert. A man might take a lover, but never more than one at a time, and all such things ceased upon marriage.
Bahadur held the ring tight in one fist and started to speak, though he had no idea what he was going to say – when a soldier came bursting into the tent, blood smearing the front of his robes. “Sandstorm Prince! Wafai has caught an ambush party and says your help is needed, for he fears reinforcements will be coming.”
“At once,” Sahayl said, striding from the tent at the same time Kahlil appeared from his own, quickly joining up with his warlord and handing out the necessary commands. In a matter of minutes everyone was ready and Sahayl mounted Bloodmoon, then led the soldiers from camp toward the coordinates obtained from the soldier Wafai had sent back.
It wasn’t far away, and before he could see the battle Bahadur could hear it. Battle cries, screams of pain, the wind carrying the stench of blood. They crested a dune and looked down into the sands below – Tribes fought one another in dizzying confusion, but Bahadur was able to pick out which of those were merely dressed as Tribe.
A second later they were in the thick of the battle themselves, and Bahadur cut through heathens and traitorous Tribes alike, hating that someday Jackal would be at the end of his blade. That was their choice though.
He snarled as a man came behind Sahayl, gutting the cowardly bastard before turning to attack another. On it went, tiring, exhausting, gruesome work, and this time with the added worry of protecting Sahayl.
The battle didn’t last. Realizing it was all over, Sahayl slowly relaxed, then cleaned his sword and sheathed it. “Your arm,” he said with a frown, striding over to Bahadur and touching his fingers to Bahadur’s arm.
They came away bloody and for the first time Bahadur realized he’d been wounded – and that it hurt. Still, he’d had worse. “A minor cut, my prince.”
Sahayl’s frowned deepened. “All the same, my warhorse…” He trailed off as Wafai and Kahlil approached them. “What happened? Also, have someone fetch a healer here.”
Nodding, Kahlil turned away to fetch the healer himself.
“We are glad to know you’re all right, my Prince.”
“Of course I’m fine, my protector was beside me the entire time.” He glared at Wafai.
Wafai smirked. “Good.”
Rolling his eyes, Sahayl motioned. “Saa, what a mess we have here. Tell me how it came about, Wafai.”
“I and several men went to run the perimeters, intending to do a bit of scouting while we were out. We came across a group of fifteen or so men obviously doing similar work of their own. One got away, I am ashamed to say, which was when I feared reinforcements would be coming. We should not linger here overlong, in case they send even more.”
Sahayl sighed. “Saa, we will have to move the camp as well.”
Kahlil returned several minutes later, trailed by not only a healer but four soldiers struggling to drag along two prisoners. They were heavily cloaked, making it impossible to tell if they were heathen or Desert.
They were also putting up quite the struggle.
“We found them not too far away, hiding.” Kahlil’s frown said better than words what he thought of that. “They are heathens, though fluent in our language, and should just be killed but—” He snarled as the leftmost one broke free of his captors and bolted toward the nearby horses. Kahlil sprinted after him, grabbing the man roughly and punching him hard, sending the heathen to the ground with a muffled groan.
The other one began to struggle wildly in the grip of his own captors. “Don’t hurt her, Goddess damn you! She hasn’t done anything wrong!”
A shocked silence fell, and the prisoner moaned as he realized what he’d just said.
“Surely not,” Sahayl said, striding over the unconscious prisoner and kneeling. Carefully he tugged at the well-knotted face and head wraps, tossing them aside and drawing a sharp breath. “By the Lady…”
Bahadur stood over him, equally shocked. A woman. Her skin was deeply tanned, giving it an almost golden tone, a pretty contrast to her bright gold hair. She also looked worn, strained, even unconscious. “What sort of barbaric heathens would send a women into war?” he demanded, turning around to glare at the other prisoner.
The soldiers had stripped this one of his covering, and Bahadur was relieved to see this one was a man – though not much of one, to allow a woman to thrown into war. He looked much like the woman, a slightly crooked nose and less curly hair the only real differences between them. So they were somehow related.
“We aren’t barbaric,” the man snapped. “I’ve been trying to make her go home since I found her in camp. I’d finally convinced her to give up her scheming and return home when we were caught up in the ambush party.”
Sahayl slowly stood. “Bring them to camp,” he said. “Take them to my tent, and treat the woman with care.”
“Yes, my Prince,” Kahlil said.
Bahadur stood patiently as the healer finally approached and bandaged his arm. It would have been fine on its own, but some of the tension eased from Sahayl’s face as he saw the wound tended, and for that Bahadur would endure the scratchy bandages.
“Saa, what a day. Wafai, we shall have to move camp.”
“It will be done,” Wafai replied. “Have you a new location in mind, Sandstorm Prince?”
Sahayl frowned in thought a moment, then gave a slight nod and rattled off a string of coordinates that made little sense to Bahadur – the Ghost way of traversing and marking the Desert was something he had yet to learn.
“Shall I set some soldiers to escort you back to camp?” Wafai asked.
“No,” Sahayl said. “I would like some quiet. Bahadur is enough.”
“As you wish,” Wafai replied, obviously displeased but realizing the futility of arguing. “I will see you back at camp then, Sandstorm Prince, Bahadur.”
Sahayl mounted his horse and Bahadur swiftly did the same, allowing Sahayl to lead them away from the battlefield and back toward camp. It was quiet, the Desert seemingly empty, Sahayl obviously having chosen a quieter route for them to take.
“How is your arm, my warhorse?”
“It will be stiff for a bit, but that’s all,” Bahadur replied. He didn’t think anyone had ever cared about his injuries before. Certainly no one in Jackal would have even noticed such a trivial wound. There was no reason his Prince should care at all; Sahayl had far more important things to worry about. “Such a trivial scratch is hardly worth my prince’s notice.”
Sahayl stopped short, forcing Bahadur to do the same. “Everything concerning you is worth my notice. I am truly grateful to Jackal for being foolish enough to let you go.” Those dark gold eyes locked with his, so very fine. “You are my warhorse, and now my protector.”
Silence fell, and stretched, their locked gazes never wavering. So hard, to take that last step that they both clearly wanted to take. Strange that it was so hard…Bahadur smiled faintly to think that were Isra or Shihab here, they would have taken matters into their own hands.
Finally Sahayl dropped his gaze, uncertainty flickering across his face for a moment – and Bahadur realized suddenly that Sahayl was more anxious than he about such things. Of course he would be, and Bahadur felt like an idiot.
That killed the last of his own hesitation, and he reached out to cup the back of Sahayl’s head, instantly seeing why the other two always seemed so taken with Sahayl’s hair, and leaned down to take his mouth. He smiled at the faint taste of almonds, undoubtedly from the sweets of which Sahayl was so fond. The flavor blended with a warmer, spicy-sweet flavor that could only Sahayl himself.
Sahayl moaned softly, and then hands landed on Bahadur’s shoulders, digging into his robes a moment before arms finally slid around his neck, pulling him closer. Bahadur finally broke the kiss, bringing his free hand up to brush his thumb across Sahayl’s kiss-damp lips. “I am honored my prince would want me,” he said softly.
“I never thought to have one lover,” Sahayl said, pleased and amused. “Never mind three. Ikram told me it would be best to eventually form a harem…I’m confused as to how I actually acquired one…or how one acquired me, perhaps.”
Bahadur laughed. “Be grateful Shihab is most definitely on your side, hmm?”
“Definitely.”
“As to three lovers…” Bahadur grinned, feeling better than he had in a long time. “If you’re at a loss, you could always ask your brother for advice.”
Sahayl blinked, then glowered, cheeks heating. “That’s not even funny.”
Bahadur chuckled and dipped his head for another taste of the mouth to which he was already addicted. “No wonder you have Isra tamed – as tamed as that one ever gets, anyway.”
“I dare you to tell Isra you consider him tamed,” Sahayl said with a chuckle.
“I am not that foolish,” Bahadur said. “We’ll tell Shihab to do it.”
Sahayl laughed and this time he initiated the next kiss, and Bahadur was dumbfounded this man had been alone for so long. The Desert was full of idiots, but that worked to his favor so he would hardly complain.
“We had best get you back to camp before Wafai comes after us,” Bahadur said at last.
“Yes,” Sahayl said with a sigh “It is a pity we must move, and that they will already have broken everything down by the time we return.”
Bahadur chuckled at the slight heat that colored Sahayl’s dark skin and could not resist stealing one last kiss before they finally continued on their way.
So I'm going Sandstorm, since I have three chapters of that ready and my beta was apparently
At least, I don't think I've posted 21 but if I have oh well. And the rest of the chapters are here.
Twenty-One
Sahayl surveyed the men gathered before. Zulfiqar and the Cobra he’d brought were perhaps the only ones who did not look furious about their presence in the courtroom.
That this was necessary depressed him. He could understand bickering, even the occasional brawl. After so many years of constant war, it was ridiculous to think it would simply stop. But to purposely, viciously beat a man for no reason?
It was the one thing he could not forgive.
“These are the ones who beat you, Shihab?”
“Yes, my Prince,” Shihab said quietly but firmly from where he sat beside Sahayl’s throne. Isra sat on the opposite side…so like Shah and his men, it was disconcerting to be the one in the throne now… Bahadur stood just two steps down from the rise upon which the throne sat, looming in that way he had over the malcontent crowd.
“Brothers,” Sahayl, addressing the prisoners, “Sons of the Desert. Give me one good reason I should not execute you all.” He kept his expression blank as his word rippled through them, the prisoners looking to their Sheiks for reassurance. But even the Scorpion Sheik, obviously displeased with Sahayl’s words, said nothing to reassure his men. “None? Have you any reasons to offer for doing what you did?”
“Heathen,” a Scorpion bit out. “Just look at him.”
Sahayl eyed the man coldly. “He is no heathen, and even if he were I made it clear he was under my protection. You’ve broken many laws in harming him and for what? What did you accomplish?”
There was no reply.
Zulfiqar stirred. “They have acted stupidly, Highness. One would think they had sand in place of brains, and while I am a firm believer in the laws that keep the Desert from outright mayhem – I feel perhaps execution would be extreme for this first offense. They were foolish and rash. I will support whatever punishment you exact, but I repeat that I think execution would be extreme.”
Sahayl nodded. “I agree – though if this happens again I will not stay my hand in that respect.” He looked at each of the offenders in turn. “Sons of the Desert, I have decided perhaps it would behoove you to leave the Desert for a time. You are banished from the Sands for a period of five years – one for each mark you have left that will never fade.” The faint slash across Shihab’s forehead, another down one thigh, across his left forearm, and two across his ribs. From rings, jewelry, where Shihab had encountered rough, sharp bits of broken stone.
There was a brief moment of stunned silence, and then everyone but Cobra exploded into protests, shouts of outrage. “You cannot do that,” the Scorpion Sheik said. “I was willing to let you punish them, as it was your man who was harmed, but to banish them from the Desert is going too far.”
“Too far?” Sahayl repeated. “Need I read you the laws? You seem to keep forgetting, Scorpion, that I am in charge – both a Prince with every right to the Desert, and the one who controls the Broken Palace. You should be grateful I am not killing him.”
“I would rather die than go live with heathens for five years! Even for five days,” a Scorpion declared, rising to his feet and struggling against the ropes that bound his arms behind his back. “I am a Son of the Lady of the Sands.”
“Then you should have acted as the Lady bid you, instead of beating a single man with four companions,” Sahayl replied. “Is that the act of brave and noble sons of the Desert?” He cut them off with a sharp motion and answered his own question. “No, it is not. It is the behavior of cowards. I will not tolerate it. You are banished. Tomorrow morning you will be escorted to the border of Tavamara, and from there escorted to the royal palace. My brother will decided what suits you best. If you commit a single wrong while you are there, my brother will punish you as he sees fit – and that includes execution. Remember that when you think to do what you should not – that if you commit a wrong too great, you will die in Tavamara and not in the arms of the Lady of the Sands.”
The men fell silent.
“Have you anything to say, my Sheiks?”
It was Zulfiqar who broke the silence first. “The sentence is fair, Highness.”
A moment later Fox nodded as well. “As you will, Highness. My men will heed the sentence.”
Scorpion remained silent for several more minutes, but just as Sahayl started to press him, he gave a curt nod. “As you say…Highness.”
“Then let them pack and say their farewells. I will trust you, my Sheiks, to ensure they do not try to flee.” He motioned them away. “You are free to go. Report to the northern border of the city at dawn.”
“Highness,” Zulfiqar replied, and hauled his man to his feet, rapidly departing the courtroom. The other two Sheiks were quick to do the same.
Shihab looked at Sahayl in amazement. “Banishment? And you’ve already worked it out with Shah? I thought we had trouble getting messages to him.”
Sahayl smiled. “I did not have the ability to use desert falcons before. Jabbar has been most helpful in the matter of relaying messages.”
Isra smirked.
“Oh, be quiet,” Shihab muttered, obviously annoyed with himself for not having figured it out. “How did you think of banishment? That was clever. It may even prove useful later, if they don’t waste all their time hating it.”
Sahayl sighed. “We can only hope they are not that foolish. Only the Lady and time can say. I hope you are content, shadowfire. As the one hurt, you had the right to demand their deaths.”
“Of course not,” Shihab said. “I’m alive and will be well with a few more days of rest. As the Cobra Sheik said – mostly they were just stupid. They were all young men….surely not more than twenty or so.” He made a face. “Which just goes to show how weak I really am.”
“Hardly weak, my shadowfire,” Sahayl said with a faint smile. “Five to one is difficult odds for any unarmed man. I think perhaps only Bahadur might have come out of that one the winner.” He smiled as Bahadur chuckled and came to sit with them.
“I think those Scorpions would have proved troublesome, my Prince,” Bahadur replied. He reached out to trace the bruise on Shihab’s cheek. “The Lady spared you broken bones, little shadowfire. That one Scorpion looked as though he could have accomplished the deed with little effort. I am surprised he did not put up a fight over the manner. From the look in his eye, he does not consider matters satisfactorily concluded.”
Shihab snorted. “He’s being banished, warhorse. I can see where that would displease him.”
“That is not what I meant and you know it, brat,” Bahadur replied.
Sahayl frowned pensively. “Scorpion is already under watch – no doubt they’re aware of some of the watchers, but they are not aware of all of them.” He smiled briefly, proudly. “Ghost is not called so simply because we inhabit the Broken Palace.”
“So when are you planning on leaving, Sahayl?” Shihab asked.
“We are pulling out tomorrow. Isra will be going in your place.”
Shihab made a face. “I’m going to go out of my mind just waiting here for everyone and doing absolutely nothing.”
“Knowing you, shadowfire,” Sahayl said teasingly, “you will find plenty of mischief to cause. I ask only that you stay in bed while you do it.”
Shihab grinned and stood up, moving carefully to sit on the armrest of Sahayl’s seat. “What happens if I get out of bed? Do I get punished, hmm? What sort of punishment are we discussing?”
Chuckling, Sahayl said nothing, merely shook his head and stood up, fingers tugging lightly at Shihab’s hair. “Behave.”
“Never” Shihab snagged his robe and yanked him back, tugging him down for a kiss. “Where are you going?”
Sahayl’s levity faded as he stood up, eyes sliding away, fastened on something only he could see. “There is…something I must do. I have been putting it off. If we are here for another day, I should…” He sighed softly. “I should be back by dark. If I’m not, no doubt I was dragged away to attend to something.” Smiling faintly, he turned and strode from the room before they could get more questions in.
Outside the smile turned into a pensive frown and he slowly made his way through the palace, dodging everyone he could, to a room at the farthest end of the palace. Once it had merely been a storeroom, but Ghost had long ago converted it to its present purpose.
The room had been expanded in size, and filled with myriad shelves. On those shelves were all the most recent dead. Eventually, when the fighting stopped for a time, they would hold the ceremony to honor the dead and then return the ashes to the Desert.
Sahayl stopped in front of the only urn in the room that bore than simple family markers – the urn that marked a Sheik. Larger, made of gold and set with a ruby that was the stone always wore by Sheiks and Amirs. Later it would be set in a room of commemoration alongside all the other Ghost Sheiks, so that all would remember Hashim and his place in Ghost’s history.
But what was that place? He had earned Ghost more enemies than friends, something which was not necessarily bad but which the rest of Ghost had secretly disagreed with. Hashim had been known for his brutality, the way he crushed all those who stood in his way.
Even his wife and son.
Sahayl stared at the carefully carved name, unable to recall anything but the moment he’d realized his father was dead – the first thing he’d felt had been relief. It was a terrible, shameful thing. Hashim had been his father above all else, he should not have been glad he was dead.
“Do you miss him?” Isra asked softly as he drew up beside Sahayl, idly brushing back strands of his fine, black hair, blue eyes intent on Sahayl. “I don’t think I would.”
“I…” Sahayl struggled for what to say. He’d intended to do this alone, had thought he needed to do it alone, but now that Isra was here…maybe alone was the very last thing he’d wanted or needed. “I don’t know. He was my father.”
“He was your father so you should?” Isra snorted softly. “I never knew my parents. The things I heard about my mother were seldom nice and Witcher told me our father was even worse. I certainly don’t miss them, and if my mother is still alive I have no desire to see her. I don’t owe anything to people who should have been there for me but weren’t. Your father…certainly doesn’t deserve the torment you’re obviously going through.”
Sahayl said nothing, Isra’s words tumbling around in his head. “He wasn’t always bad.”
“Neither was my mother,” Isra replied.
“I…” Sahayl reached out to touch the ruby set into the urn, but stopped at the last moment at the sight of the gold signet on his finger where the Ghost Sheik ring should be. Zulfiqar had said his father would be proud…
…But if Hashim were still alive, he never would have agreed to let other Tribes into the Broken Palace. He would have refused to let Sahayl go to Tavamara for help…and if Sahayl had defied him, he likely would not have survived Hashim’s beating upon his return.
Nor would he have been able to return a Prince.
Even assuming he had managed everything, Hashim wouldn’t have been proud – he would have pleased with the sudden increase in his own power, would have used it towards his own ends.
So it was better, in the end, that Hashim was dead. He had control of Ghost, Wafai, Noor, and Kahlil were able to fully exercise their own authority, were finally flourishing as they should have always been able to…he was a Prince, was helping the Desert.
Everything was better with Hashim dead.
Sahayl curled his hand into a fist. His chest ached, felt tight.
“You really do miss him, don’t you?”
“I just…” Sahayl fell silent again, afraid he wouldn’t be able to finish the sentence. He gasped as Isra suddenly wrapped around him, held him tight, head resting in the hollow of his shoulder so that he could feel Isra’s breath on his skin. “Saa, desert rose…I just wanted him not to hate me.”
Isra laughed softly, warm against Sahayl’s throat. “No one could hate you, Sahayl. I should know. I tried rather hard to hate you and look where I am now. My impression of Hashim is that if he’d hated you, he would have simply killed you. Or cast you out, like my father did my mother. He kept you Amir – that has to count for something.”
“He had no other sons and was too proud to name someone outside the family Amir. It is as simple as that.” He’d thought it meant something more, once, but pride had driven almost everything Hashim did. Pride had demanded he somehow mold – beat – his son into his image. Or, failing that, into submission.
A soft sigh broke into his thoughts. “Sahayl…has anyone ever told you that you think too much? My honored uncle loves to rail at me for never thinking enough – you are the exact opposite. Too complicated. Hashim died fighting, and you have gone from being Ghost Sheik to Desert Prince in a matter of weeks. Something to be proud of, and he would be proud of that. So stop standing around in this gloomy room already and come keep Shihab from trying to make me play taaki again because I swear to the Lady I will shove every last tile down his throat—“
Sahayl laughed, cutting off Isra’s words. “You have no patience, desert rose. That is why he always bests you.”
“He’s cheating,” Isra said adamantly. “Now come distract him.”
“As you wish,” Sahayl said, smiling softly as Isra leaned up to kiss him, still unable to believe that this man was his to keep. Not so long ago they’d been enemies…would he someday wake up and find they still were?
Isra tugged him out of the room, wrapping an arm around his waist, fingers idly tracing along his side. “You don’t speak much about your mother. She gave you those curls, and she was kind…”
“My mother…” Sahayl looked out across the desert as they walked down a covered walkway toward the wing where his rooms were located. “Her mother was captured by us in a raid…Fox, I believe. She eventually married a Ghost and gave birth to my mother, who grew up surrounded by her own mother’s bitterness. Understandable, of course…” Raids were not as common as they had been, but they were necessary. Ghost had lost as many women and children as it had gained. “It drove her, I guess, to be exactly opposite. Quiet, accommodating, accepting…willing to tolerate anything to avoid unhappiness. Because she was born into an old family of good standing – Kahlil is her nephew, actually – it was arranged that she would marry my father.
“She endured my father’s brutality far longer than I…he did not…start on me until I was about eleven, and that only because I refused to ‘put Wafai in his place’ as my father said I should, after we argued. Over what, I no longer remember. It was then my father started believing me too soft…just a few years later my mother finally gave up. Between her parents and her marriage, she simply couldn’t bear it anymore…” He finally braved a look at Isra, recognizing the stubborn set to his jaw, the way those blue, blue eyes flared as he fought not to say what he was thinking. “You think my mother was weak,” he said for Isra.
Isra shrugged. “I don’t think she should have left you alone.” He made a face. “On the positive side, at least she chose a respectable way out. My mother is somewhere in the west playing Desert whore – though I suppose she could be dead by this point.” His face hardened briefly.
“Do you really not care about your parents, desert rose?”
“No,” Isra said firmly, “I don’t. They didn’t care about me, why should I care about them? Everything they should have done, my honored uncle and aunt did instead. My mother could have stayed and raised me; the Tribe was willing to give her another chance. She ran off to find another pretty face. My father apparently jumped from bed to bed. What should I care about?
Sahayl chuckled. “So decisive, desert rose. I wish my mind was as easily made up.”
Isra snorted. “Stop thinking so much.”
“Saa, but too much thinking is why I’ve come closer to beating Shihab at taaki than you or Bahadur.”
“He cheats!” Isra said, all but stamping his foot.
“Do not!” Shihab bellowed from the table as Isra and Sahayl stepped inside. “It’s not my fault you’re hopeless at anything requiring thought.”
“Be quiet or I’ll give you a fresh set of bruises.”
Sahayl shared a brief look with Bahadur, then held Isra tight to keep him from going after Shihab, who was asking for it, really, but Sahayl could see by the tight lines of his face and the way he held himself that Shihab was still in a great deal of pain. “You should be resting, shadowfire, not enraging Isra.”
“But it’s my favorite thing to do,” Shihab said. “I’ll go rest if you’ll play a game with me…after tomorrow I’ll be here all alone, you know. Isra will be wreaking havoc with Falcon, Sahayl and Bahadur get to kick around a few heathens…and I’ll be all alone with my taaki board…”
“Brat,” Isra said, but obediently took his seat.
Sahayl took his own seat, directly across from Shihab, with Isra to his right and Bahadur to his left, and simply sat quietly and smiled as he listened to the other three bicker and talk, somber mood fading away.
Twenty-two
“Isra!” A soldier ran up to him, not trying very hard to hide a grin. “The Falcon Sheik requests that you dine with him this evening.”
“He requests that I dine with him?” Isra glared at his uncle’s tent. “You can tell my honored uncle that he’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is.” He rolled his eyes. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself. Stop laughing or you’ll be eating sand.”
“Yes, Isra,” the soldier said, and smothering a laugh he turned and ran off.
Isra handed his horse off to the nearby handler – who was also trying not to laugh – and stalked across camp to his uncle’s tent, ignoring the guards outside and striding right inside. “Having fun at my expense, are we?” He paused only to wash his hands and arms in the bowl just inside the entrance, then sat down heavily at the table, glaring at Jabbar.
Jabbar chuckled. “Well, you’ve moved so high up in the world now, nephew, I thought perhaps I should ask politely for your company.”
“I can’t imagine why you think you’re so amusing,” Isra groused, ignoring his uncle in favor of examining the food. All manner of dishes had been arranged – spicy meat, steamed vegetables, half a dozen kinds of pastries, some savory, some sweet. His stomach growled. “You must really want something.” He helped himself to the carafe of wine, drinking one dishful quickly and pouring a second to drink more slowly.
“Only an explanation, nephew, and believe it or not – I have been worried about you. When you left, I was not certain you would return, and I had no men to spare to bring you back.”
Isra winced, chastened. “I am sorry, honored uncle. I thought only of trying to find help…”
“You certainly found it,” Jabbar replied, sitting back and picking up his own wine dish, “and more besides, it would seem.”
“So it would seem,” Isra agreed, forcing himself not to fidget under Jabbar’s stare as he had so often growing up.
Jabbar laughed outright. “You are not getting out of this, Isra. I want to know how you went from hating the Ghost Sheik to becoming the Sandstorm Prince’s concubine.”
Isra could feel his cheeks heating, something only his uncle could ever do to him. “Only the Lady truly understands anything. I knew I should have refused to come here in Shihab’s place.” He finished his wine and poured more, then began to pick at the nearest tray of pastries – these stuffed with lamb, knowing his uncle.
“When I said I hoped you would find reason to stop hating, I certainly did not have this in mind, nephew. Leave it to you to find the most unique way to learn a lesson.” His eyes sparkled with mirth as he smiled fondly at Isra. “Now tell me or I’ll invite my wife to this meal as well.”
“That’s cheating!” Isra said, all but throwing his wine dish down on the table. “Don’t you dare! It’s none of her business.” He shuddered at the thought of what precisely his aunt would manage to get out of him. No matter how hard he tried, how well he thought he knew all her tricks…every single time she got everything she wanted out of him.
The woman was evil.
Jabbar snickered. “Then tell. What first changed your mind, hmm, nephew?”
Isra poured more wine, wishing he could just skip the dish and drink straight from the carafe – or for something stronger than Dark Spice. Desert wine, potent as it could be, was nowhere near strong enough for having to confess everything to his uncle.
Who would tell his aunt.
Who would tell the whole camp.
Lady bury them all in the Sands.
“I have been waiting many years to see this change in you, nephew,” Jabbar prodded.
Isra merely glared mutinously. “My personal life is none of your business.”
“He is handsome,” Jabbar goaded. “I saw Sheik Hashim’s face only a few times…not a pleasant fellow.”
“At least he didn’t nearly outweigh his horse,” Isra retorted.
Jabbar threw his head back and laughed. “Insults will not distract me, nephew. I am having far too much fun with you.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Isra said sourly. He nibbled at a bit of fruit while Jabbar laughed, contemplating whether to leave or throw all the food at his honored uncle first.
“If you throw something at me, Isra, I will leave you to your aunt’s devices. As I was saying --- the Prince is quite handsome. He must get his looks from his mother.”
Isra shrugged and snagged another lamb-stuffed pastry, struggling not to think about Sahayl – whom he suddenly realized he missed. Badly. Sahayl had gotten his hair from his mother, no doubt the rest had come from her as well. Certainly none of Hashim’s vile personality was in his son.
Jabbar’s smug voice broke into his thoughts. “Mind wandering, Isra?”
“I’m leaving,” Isra said, disgusted. He stormed to his feet. “I didn’t come along on this trip to be laughed at for the duration of it. We have work to do, and I am supposed to be scouting, not sitting here listening to you mock me for having come to care about Sahayl!”
“Sit down!” Jabbar’s voice cracked like a whip. Isra sat. “You will forgive your uncle his teasing, Isra. As I said, when last I saw you, you were angry with everyone in the Desert – including me. Your opinion then was that Ghost needed to die – especially the Ghost Amir. I despaired of ever getting through to you. Now you sit across from me the concubine of our new Desert Prince, and by your own admission have come to care about a man you wanted to kill. I am entitled to tease you – and you will tolerate it in good grace as all children should.”
Isra frowned at the table. “There must have been more days than I could ever count where you wanted to beat me senseless.”
Jabbar lifted one brow at the strange statement, but went along with it. “Isra, not a day goes by when a parent does not want to beat sense into his child.”
“Honored Uncle.—“ Isra jerked his head up in surprise.
“I do consider you my own, Isra. Surely you know that after all this time.”
Isra nodded, but did not speak, lowering his gaze back to the table.
“As I was saying – yes, there have been times when I wanted to knock some sense into that head of yours. There have been many days where I wanted to beat it into your cousins, and more still I wanted to wring my wife’s neck. Never do I want to know the number of times she has contemplated poisoning my food.” Jabbar chuckled softly. “However, confining you to your tent proved far more effective a means of punishment, and you know I would never harm you. Why do you say such strange things?”
Isra fiddled with his wine dish a moment, then finally looked up again. “This is not common knowledge, Uncle, and he would not want anyone to know who did not need to…but you asked when my mind changed…”
Jabbar’s brow furrowed in sudden concern.
“It started to change the day we were attacked by the men attempting to impersonate Ghost…before that fight, when I ran off after you and I argued. I encountered Sahayl in an oasis…”
“Yes,” Jabbar said slowly, “I remember. You said he had been beaten…” His eyes widened slightly as comprehension dawned.
Isra nodded, barely noticing, attention only for his memories, the night that had changed everything – and not so very long ago. “I figured out later, in Tavamara, that Hashim had been the one to beat him. That he’d been doing it since Sahayl was a boy.”
“By the Lady,” Jabbar said softly. “I have come to know him, as well as anyone can in a matter of several busy days…that does much to explain why a man his age acts more like one of my age.”
“There were other reasons, but that was the main one,” Isra said, and finally picked up his wine again.
Jabbar levity returned with a smirk. “Yes, I’m sure there were.”
“That’s none of your business,” Isra muttered, hating the way his cheeks burned. “Why are you so determined to pry into what I do in bed, honored uncle?” He tossed Jabbar a smirk of his own. “Looking for ideas?”
“Impertinent!” Jabbar said, laughing hard.
Isra fought a laugh. “Anything else you’d like to know, uncle?”
“I should like to have a word with young ‘Simon’ someday,” Jabbar replied dryly.
“I knew he was up to something, but I never asked what,” Isra replied, “and as much as I wish I could, I cannot tell you what I know.”
Jabbar waved the words away. “Of course, of course.” He stroked his beard. “I’m not yet finished with you, but I will relent for a time. Let us discuss what we’ll be doing in these coming days.” He set out a copy of the map with which Sahayl had entrusted him. “I still cannot believe the Prince has such a thing as this in his possession…” He shook his head. “We are planning to try and find these Tribes here. They are the most remote in this region, about as far from any border as it is possible to be, so hopefully they will not have been affected. Ideally we will persuade them to the Prince’s side…”
“You agreed to the whole Prince thing with surprising ease,” Isra interrupted. “I did not think you’d be so amenable to such a tactic, especially when you refused to seek help…”
“I refused help, Isra, because by that point it was clear we could not trust even those we have called allies for years now. The risk you took…under ordinary circumstance, nephew, I would have been hard pressed to turn away the insistence that I kick you out of Falcon.”
Isra nodded. “I knew that when I left.”
“Leave it to you, nephew, to return in a position where no one can touch you…figuratively and literally.” Jabbar smirked.
Isra rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. I find your interest in my love life disturbing, honored uncle.”
“I’m not interested in your romance, Isra, except insofar as I am enjoying seeing how far and fast you’ve fallen.” Jabbar poured himself more wine, then reached across the table to refill Isra’s dish. “Now, let us turn to business for a time.”
“Yes, honored uncle,” Isra replied, grateful to have the discussion over with – for now. “What are your plans?”
Jabbar sat back and sipped at his wine. “Noor and I spoke at length before I called you for dinner. Combing the entire desert would take months. We do not have months. Of the Tribes marked on the map with which the Prince trusted us, Noor and I have picked out half a dozen that are most likely to join us without too much trouble. They, hopefully, will branch out to others. Of those six, three are Tribes known in passing to either Falcon or Ghost, which will help. Even with all that, however, it will still take too long to find them all, talk, and bring them to the Broken Palace. So we have decided to break into three groups, and I’m—“
He was interrupted by the sound of a battle cry. Jabbar and Isra immediately sprang to their feet, snatching up their swords and bolting from the tent. The worst place to be in a fight was inside.
Outside, the camp had turned into chaos.
“Viper,” Jabbar snarled, and then there was no more talking as the enemy was upon them.
Bellowing a war cry, Isra ducked beneath an oncoming blade even as his own sword flashed, cutting the horse’s rider hard across the leg. The wound caused the man to falter, and Isra wasted no time mounting behind him and throwing the man off. Taking up the reins, he turned to the next enemy and fell into the blur of battle.
Some time later, he abruptly realized there was no one left who needed to be killed.
Rage was immediately replaced by fear, and he looked anxiously around the camp to see who had been lost. Hastily he dismounted the stolen horse, handing the reins off to a soldier who came shuffling tiredly toward him. Nodding a brief thanks, Isra plunged into the thick of the ruined camp, grief washing over him to see the fallen, heart sick as the one face he truly wanted to see did not appear – living or dead.
He hated worrying like this, no matter how many times he went into battle – no matter how many of those he might have helped start.
Would he see Sahayl fallen like this someday?
The sudden thought brought him up short, made him dizzy. For some reason that fear had never truly lodged…Isra thought suddenly that he finally really and truly understood what his honored uncle had been trying to beat into his head all these years.
“Isra!”
He jerked around sharply, hand going reflexively to his sword, but he calmed almost instantly as his uncle’s voice registered. “Honored Uncle,” he said in relief, and immediately returned the embrace Jabbar gave him. “Everyone else?”
“We lost fewer than expected,” Jabbar said, “but still too many. My concern is how Viper found us so quickly. We haven’t been here even half a day.” His expression was grim, and Isra’s matched it.
Jabbar turned away and began barking orders. Isra fell into step alongside him, quickly joined by the Falcon Amir and two other soldiers. “What have we learned?”
“Viper, definitely,” the Amir said grimly. “The markings are accurate and, like Cobra, they would be hard to duplicate in a short period of time – and I cannot imagine this many heathens willing to undergo something so permanent for the sake of a temporary disguise.”
Isra snorted. “Heathens couldn’t bear the pain anyway. Weaklings, all.”
Shaking his head at Isra, Jabbar motioned to the bodies that were slowly being gathered together. “I cannot believe Sons of the Lady would side with heathens against the Desert…but these are unmistakably Viper.”
“Pathetic,” Isra said coldly, and around him the other men murmured in agreement. He moved closer to the bodies and began to examine each of them, anxious for any clue or sign as to who exactly had managed to talk Jackal, Viper, and who knew how many other Tribes into such terrible behavior.
He hissed in surprise as yanking away a face covering revealed a mark he had not expected to see…and made his blood run cold. “Uncle,” he said urgently, already making plans on the fastest way to reach Sahayl.
Jabbar knelt beside him. “By the Lady!” he said, and quickly rose to his feet, snapping new orders, sending men scurrying.
“I am going to him,” Isra said, not willing to tolerate any argument.
“Of course,” Jabbar said. “Ride as fast as you dare, nephew.”
Isra nodded, and sprinted toward the horse that was already being brought to him, waiting impatiently as his supplies were loaded, quickly donning the travel gear brought to him. Jabbar approached and embraced him briefly.
“Send word when all is settled,” Jabbar said.
“I will, honored uncle,” Isra said, but the words were absently spoken, every fiber of him focused only on reaching Sahayl in time.
Because among the Tribes that had chosen to go with the Prince was Wasp, and among the Vipers they’d killed today was a man with the distinctive mark of Wasp carved into his throat.
Wasp was cooperating with Viper, or so it now had to be assumed.
Sahayl was in danger.
Isra urged his horse to a faster pace, just barely keeping from pushing him too hard in the blistering heat.
Above him came the cry of a falcon, and Isra drew his horse up short, holding out his arm and waiting patiently as the bird descended. He stroked her chest once she was settled, admiring her. One of the finest falcons in the camp, which was saying a great deal. His uncle had attached a missive, telling him where they were going next – now that it was obvious there was or had been a snitch in the camp.
It demonstrated just how consumed by fear he was that he’d raced off without learning such things. He would be distressed at such a blatant show of how much power Sahayl had over him, but there simply wasn’t time. Isra launched the falcon into the air, knowing it would stay close to him.
That his uncle would give him one of the best falcons in the Tribe said just how worried Jabbar was. They had anticipated betrayal, of course, more than a few Tribes had to have sided with the heathens…but that they’d let one of those get so close to the Prince while he was in the middle of the Desert…
Twenty-three
Bahadur stroked the calligraphy on his cheeks, wishing for the millionth time that he could eradicate them. Change them. Anything but leave them as they were. Constant marks of shame.
No one but Jackal could read them, of course, and he’d yet to see another Jackal since fleeing from his home, but he knew what they meant. That he’d failed, that his own family hadn’t wanted him after that failure.
That he was hardly fit, as capable a fighter he might be, as welcome as he obviously was, to be as close to his Sandstorm Prince as he was.
Sahayl requested his presence, however, and as unfit as he might be he would gladly obey.
Sighing softly, he turned back toward camp as he was relieved by the next guard. At the entrance he handed his horse over to one of the men assigned to horse duty, then began to make his way toward the center of camp and the Prince’s tent.
His steps slowed as he caught sight of the sparring taking place, looking on with longing at the way the men were able to have fun even while they were working hard. In Jackal, fights only ended when blood was spilled – usually only a nick, a minor wound, but there were some that only ended in death.
It was only by the Lady’s blessing that the duel for right to protect wasn’t fatal. At one point in Jackal’s history they had been. He touched the marks on his cheek, which sometimes felt more painful than any death could.
“Jackal!” A voice bellowed above the din of the sparring, and Bahadur jerked his head up. “Bahadur!” He faltered to a stop as he realized the soldiers really were calling to him.
“Yes?”
“You look like you know how to do more than hold a sword,” a Ghost with short, lighter brown hair beckoned him close. “Care to try your hand? We all know how we cheat.” The men standing around him laughed, nudging and goading each other.
Bahadur felt his lips twitch, wanting to smile. “You must cheat to win fights?”
The men laughed. “Only against each other. Like I said, we all know each other’s tricks. Care to test your mettle against a Ghost?”
“Do not complain if you find your tricks do not work,” Bahadur replied, his smile defeating his efforts to maintain his restrained manner.
The man who’d initially called out to him grinned and moved into the sparring circle. “Fair enough, but the same goes to you – don’t be mad if you lose to a Ghost.”
“I have never been afraid of phantoms,” Bahadur said and drew his sword. He hefted it as the Ghost attacked, blocking the swing, driving him back, bring his sword down hard, jarring the lighter man’s arms.
The Ghost laughed, winked, and renewed his attack – this time attacking with fervor.
Bahadur let himself go, forgetting everything but the fight, relishing that he did not have to worry about someone – his opponent or a spectator – using foul play to harm him. Because his fellow Jackals had never wanted to kill him, or at least rarely, but they had been plenty willing to harm him. Only a couple had never completely disliked him, but they’d only been interested in how he could keep them warm. In return, they’d offered information withheld from such lesser members of the Tribe.
How like the Lady to ensure that one of his midnight trysts had resulted in stumbling across the one man in the Desert who could lead him to help.
As well as to a Sheik, a Prince, worth following. Bahadur had never wished for anything as badly as he wished that he’d been born a Ghost and not a Jackal. He grunted as he blocked the latest swing from his opponent, and stepped forward, bringing his own sword down and then jerking it up sharply, taking his opponent by surprise, sending him crashing down hard into the sand.
“Defeat!” Wafai’s familiar voice called out the end of the match, then broke into laughter. “Tidily done, Jackal. You’re every bit the warhorse my Sandstorm Prince calls you after.” Wafai moved into the sand and helped the soldier to his feet, turning him in the direction of his comrades before turning back to face Bahadur. “Very well done, indeed.”
Bahadur grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. He wasn’t worth much, but he knew the skills he did have, and combat was definitely one of them.
“You must have given up much when you left Jackal.”
Smile fading, Bahadur gave a shrug and sheathed his sword. “Not really…” His hand went of its own volition to the calligraphy on his cheeks. “I was meant to be a protector, but I did not believe in the man I was meant to protect. I lost the duel.” And his honor with it, but he did not need to say that – it would be understood.
“I see,” Wafai said, a strange look flickering across his face.
Bahadur lifted a brow in question.
Around the perimeter, several men laughed. “Saa, Wafai. I think you might have a challenger. He certainly yells less than you!”
Wafai glared. “Knock that sand out of your head or I’ll do it for you! If you’ve got time enough to stand around trying to be clever, I’m sure Kahlil can find something to occupy your time.”
The men shut up.
Bahadur chuckled. “If I had been born Ghost, it is true I would have fought for the honor to protect our Sandstorm Prince.”
That strange look flickered across Wafai’s face again. “Then fight me now.”
Bahadur blinked. “What?”
“Fight me now,” Wafai repeated.
“I don’t understand. Sahayl could ask for no better protector than you.”
“Sahayl is the brother of my soul, and I will always be willing to die for him…but my responsibilities are greater now. By his command, I am charged with many duties – both in camp and back home at the palace. In addition, I have a wife now. My attention is being stretched in too many directions. I am no longer the best for role of protector. If you think you are fit, Jackal, then fight me for the honor.”
Bahadur could only stare for a moment. Finally he shook himself and drew his sword. “He will kill you.”
“He’s still in trouble for becoming a Prince without my permission,” Wafai retorted. “In this, he’ll do as we say. Let’s see what you can do against someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“Hey!” Bahadur’s earlier opponent bellowed in mock outrage from the sidelines. His friends snickered. “Jackal! Ground him into sand!”
Wafai rolled his eyes, then in a burst of movement drew his sword and attacked.
Bahadur barely countered in time, swords clashing loudly in the sudden silence that fell around them. He surged forward with a cry, their swords sliding apart, and moved his sword in an upward swing, arms jarring slightly as he clashed again with Wafai’s. He pulled back, then immediately surged forward again.
Then everything but the fight fell away, and he felt nothing but every swing, the way the sand moved beneath him, the sweat soaking his clothes, his hair. He let out a cry as he once more took the offensive away from Wafai, pouring his energy into it, thriving on a duel that was worth fighting.
Abruptly it was over, as he knelt over Wafai, who lay flat on the sand. He stopped, threw his sword aside. “You fight as ruthlessly as a Jackal…but Isra is right, you have a tendency to lower your guard.”
Wafai grunted and accepted the helping hand Bahadur held out. “You are the only two to ever say so.”
Around them the soldiers burst into cheers. “Aha! Way to bury Wafai!”
“That’s showing him!”
Wafai glared around the ring. “If you have that much energy, Ghost, draw your swords.”
The men laughed, but subsided.
“Clearly the discipline around here is not what it should be,” Wafai groused. He glared at the men once more for good measure, then turned back to Bahadur. “Jackal was stupid to let you go, Bahadur.” He smiled suddenly. “I’m glad I decided to give you and those other two a chance. Leave it to Sahayl to pick out all the misfits and troublemakers in the Desert.” He tugged a silver ring, set with a large amber stone, from his finger and tossed it to Bahadur. “Take care of him, protector. That dratted Falcon is too hotheaded, and the nonheathen is a schemer, not a fighter.” He eyed Bahadur pensively. “I assume you are to Sahayl what the other two are…Tavamara and its strange customs…take care of him.” He turned away, pointing to every man who had made some remark when Bahadur had defeated him. “Go relieve the guards on duty. Stay there until I say otherwise.”
The men groaned but obeyed, and in seconds the crowd had cleared as everyone set to finish their evening tasks before full dark fell.
“Where you going?” Bahadur asked. “Shouldn’t you tell Sahayl…?”
Wafai grinned. “You’re his protector now, you tell him. I’ve other duties to attend, and I want to run the perimeters myself.”
“Coward.”
Laughing, Wafai waved him off and vanished into the camp, calling for his horse.
Shaking his head, Bahadur retrieved his sword and slowly made his way to Sahayl’s tent. He stopped in front of it, bowing his head to the guard by the entrance as he passed through. “Sahayl?”
“Bahadur,” Sahayl greeted, smiling as he looked up from the reports he was reading over. “I heard quite the racket out there. Did they drag you into their sparring?” He looked wistful. “I miss having the time to spar. I swear the moment I finish one task, three more take its place.” He paused, frowning suddenly, and set his papers aside. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m…not certain. It happened rather quickly, and now I wonder if it’s what you would have wanted.”
“What I would have wanted?” Sahayl stood up from the low table he sat behind and crossed the large tent to Bahadur. “What’s wrong?”
Bahadur held out the ring Wafai had given him – too small, at present, for his finger. He would need to have it altered to fit him. But it was his…assuming Sahayl wanted him to have it.
“Wafai…” Sahayl said softly, touching the ring lying in Bahadur’s palm. “Where is he?”
“Checking the perimeter.”
“That coward. No doubt this is revenge for my going to Tavamara.” Sahayl finally looked up at him. “You truly want this responsibility?”
“Yes,” Bahadur said. “I am hardly worthy, my Sandstorm Prince—“
“You’re worth a great deal to me,” Sahayl interrupted, “and Wafai would never have chosen you as his replacement if he did not think you were worthy.” He smiled, dark eyes lightening with amusement. “I wonder if this was in Shihab’s plans.”
Bahadur chuckled. “I do not think your shadowfire could have anticipated this, for all that he seems sure of everything else.” He faltered suddenly, recalling exactly what Shihab had said – that he should be in Sahayl’s harem alongside Shihab and Isra.
“You needn’t be troubled by what he says,” Sahayl said. “I am still confused as to why they have assumed such roles. I doubt a warhorse wants to live his life trapped in a palace.”
Tonight was full of surprises. First he was invited to spar, when until that point Ghost had treated him with a sort of careful respect, then he was made Sahayl’s protector…now Sahayl seemed to be saying that he didn’t mind what Shihab had said at all. Unexpected.
Only a blind fool would not find Sahayl attractive, and watching him with Isra and Shihab had made him painfully aware of his somewhat outside status. He was also painfully curious – and how strange, to want three men at once. It was something he should feel guilty about…and it occurred to him, suddenly, that of course Sahayl would feel the same. Shihab and Isra had been raised differently, for all that Isra at least had been raised in the Desert. It was normal to them…very much not for sons of the Desert. A man might take a lover, but never more than one at a time, and all such things ceased upon marriage.
Bahadur held the ring tight in one fist and started to speak, though he had no idea what he was going to say – when a soldier came bursting into the tent, blood smearing the front of his robes. “Sandstorm Prince! Wafai has caught an ambush party and says your help is needed, for he fears reinforcements will be coming.”
“At once,” Sahayl said, striding from the tent at the same time Kahlil appeared from his own, quickly joining up with his warlord and handing out the necessary commands. In a matter of minutes everyone was ready and Sahayl mounted Bloodmoon, then led the soldiers from camp toward the coordinates obtained from the soldier Wafai had sent back.
It wasn’t far away, and before he could see the battle Bahadur could hear it. Battle cries, screams of pain, the wind carrying the stench of blood. They crested a dune and looked down into the sands below – Tribes fought one another in dizzying confusion, but Bahadur was able to pick out which of those were merely dressed as Tribe.
A second later they were in the thick of the battle themselves, and Bahadur cut through heathens and traitorous Tribes alike, hating that someday Jackal would be at the end of his blade. That was their choice though.
He snarled as a man came behind Sahayl, gutting the cowardly bastard before turning to attack another. On it went, tiring, exhausting, gruesome work, and this time with the added worry of protecting Sahayl.
The battle didn’t last. Realizing it was all over, Sahayl slowly relaxed, then cleaned his sword and sheathed it. “Your arm,” he said with a frown, striding over to Bahadur and touching his fingers to Bahadur’s arm.
They came away bloody and for the first time Bahadur realized he’d been wounded – and that it hurt. Still, he’d had worse. “A minor cut, my prince.”
Sahayl’s frowned deepened. “All the same, my warhorse…” He trailed off as Wafai and Kahlil approached them. “What happened? Also, have someone fetch a healer here.”
Nodding, Kahlil turned away to fetch the healer himself.
“We are glad to know you’re all right, my Prince.”
“Of course I’m fine, my protector was beside me the entire time.” He glared at Wafai.
Wafai smirked. “Good.”
Rolling his eyes, Sahayl motioned. “Saa, what a mess we have here. Tell me how it came about, Wafai.”
“I and several men went to run the perimeters, intending to do a bit of scouting while we were out. We came across a group of fifteen or so men obviously doing similar work of their own. One got away, I am ashamed to say, which was when I feared reinforcements would be coming. We should not linger here overlong, in case they send even more.”
Sahayl sighed. “Saa, we will have to move the camp as well.”
Kahlil returned several minutes later, trailed by not only a healer but four soldiers struggling to drag along two prisoners. They were heavily cloaked, making it impossible to tell if they were heathen or Desert.
They were also putting up quite the struggle.
“We found them not too far away, hiding.” Kahlil’s frown said better than words what he thought of that. “They are heathens, though fluent in our language, and should just be killed but—” He snarled as the leftmost one broke free of his captors and bolted toward the nearby horses. Kahlil sprinted after him, grabbing the man roughly and punching him hard, sending the heathen to the ground with a muffled groan.
The other one began to struggle wildly in the grip of his own captors. “Don’t hurt her, Goddess damn you! She hasn’t done anything wrong!”
A shocked silence fell, and the prisoner moaned as he realized what he’d just said.
“Surely not,” Sahayl said, striding over the unconscious prisoner and kneeling. Carefully he tugged at the well-knotted face and head wraps, tossing them aside and drawing a sharp breath. “By the Lady…”
Bahadur stood over him, equally shocked. A woman. Her skin was deeply tanned, giving it an almost golden tone, a pretty contrast to her bright gold hair. She also looked worn, strained, even unconscious. “What sort of barbaric heathens would send a women into war?” he demanded, turning around to glare at the other prisoner.
The soldiers had stripped this one of his covering, and Bahadur was relieved to see this one was a man – though not much of one, to allow a woman to thrown into war. He looked much like the woman, a slightly crooked nose and less curly hair the only real differences between them. So they were somehow related.
“We aren’t barbaric,” the man snapped. “I’ve been trying to make her go home since I found her in camp. I’d finally convinced her to give up her scheming and return home when we were caught up in the ambush party.”
Sahayl slowly stood. “Bring them to camp,” he said. “Take them to my tent, and treat the woman with care.”
“Yes, my Prince,” Kahlil said.
Bahadur stood patiently as the healer finally approached and bandaged his arm. It would have been fine on its own, but some of the tension eased from Sahayl’s face as he saw the wound tended, and for that Bahadur would endure the scratchy bandages.
“Saa, what a day. Wafai, we shall have to move camp.”
“It will be done,” Wafai replied. “Have you a new location in mind, Sandstorm Prince?”
Sahayl frowned in thought a moment, then gave a slight nod and rattled off a string of coordinates that made little sense to Bahadur – the Ghost way of traversing and marking the Desert was something he had yet to learn.
“Shall I set some soldiers to escort you back to camp?” Wafai asked.
“No,” Sahayl said. “I would like some quiet. Bahadur is enough.”
“As you wish,” Wafai replied, obviously displeased but realizing the futility of arguing. “I will see you back at camp then, Sandstorm Prince, Bahadur.”
Sahayl mounted his horse and Bahadur swiftly did the same, allowing Sahayl to lead them away from the battlefield and back toward camp. It was quiet, the Desert seemingly empty, Sahayl obviously having chosen a quieter route for them to take.
“How is your arm, my warhorse?”
“It will be stiff for a bit, but that’s all,” Bahadur replied. He didn’t think anyone had ever cared about his injuries before. Certainly no one in Jackal would have even noticed such a trivial wound. There was no reason his Prince should care at all; Sahayl had far more important things to worry about. “Such a trivial scratch is hardly worth my prince’s notice.”
Sahayl stopped short, forcing Bahadur to do the same. “Everything concerning you is worth my notice. I am truly grateful to Jackal for being foolish enough to let you go.” Those dark gold eyes locked with his, so very fine. “You are my warhorse, and now my protector.”
Silence fell, and stretched, their locked gazes never wavering. So hard, to take that last step that they both clearly wanted to take. Strange that it was so hard…Bahadur smiled faintly to think that were Isra or Shihab here, they would have taken matters into their own hands.
Finally Sahayl dropped his gaze, uncertainty flickering across his face for a moment – and Bahadur realized suddenly that Sahayl was more anxious than he about such things. Of course he would be, and Bahadur felt like an idiot.
That killed the last of his own hesitation, and he reached out to cup the back of Sahayl’s head, instantly seeing why the other two always seemed so taken with Sahayl’s hair, and leaned down to take his mouth. He smiled at the faint taste of almonds, undoubtedly from the sweets of which Sahayl was so fond. The flavor blended with a warmer, spicy-sweet flavor that could only Sahayl himself.
Sahayl moaned softly, and then hands landed on Bahadur’s shoulders, digging into his robes a moment before arms finally slid around his neck, pulling him closer. Bahadur finally broke the kiss, bringing his free hand up to brush his thumb across Sahayl’s kiss-damp lips. “I am honored my prince would want me,” he said softly.
“I never thought to have one lover,” Sahayl said, pleased and amused. “Never mind three. Ikram told me it would be best to eventually form a harem…I’m confused as to how I actually acquired one…or how one acquired me, perhaps.”
Bahadur laughed. “Be grateful Shihab is most definitely on your side, hmm?”
“Definitely.”
“As to three lovers…” Bahadur grinned, feeling better than he had in a long time. “If you’re at a loss, you could always ask your brother for advice.”
Sahayl blinked, then glowered, cheeks heating. “That’s not even funny.”
Bahadur chuckled and dipped his head for another taste of the mouth to which he was already addicted. “No wonder you have Isra tamed – as tamed as that one ever gets, anyway.”
“I dare you to tell Isra you consider him tamed,” Sahayl said with a chuckle.
“I am not that foolish,” Bahadur said. “We’ll tell Shihab to do it.”
Sahayl laughed and this time he initiated the next kiss, and Bahadur was dumbfounded this man had been alone for so long. The Desert was full of idiots, but that worked to his favor so he would hardly complain.
“We had best get you back to camp before Wafai comes after us,” Bahadur said at last.
“Yes,” Sahayl said with a sigh “It is a pity we must move, and that they will already have broken everything down by the time we return.”
Bahadur chuckled at the slight heat that colored Sahayl’s dark skin and could not resist stealing one last kiss before they finally continued on their way.
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Date: 2007-02-21 01:08 am (UTC)Fantastic writing and characterisation as always.
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Date: 2007-02-21 01:29 am (UTC)I love Bahadur becoming Sahayl's protector and now an official harem member as well. Awesomeness. Isra's dinner with his Honored Uncle was very funny, and vet painful in an empathic sort of way. His temper is ever so much fun.
Ah, but I am worried about him finding Sahayl now, and in time before something will happen.
The captive heathens are an interesting twist... Oh! you are doing that thing again, giving the 'enemy' a face. The woman and her feistiness , following her... brother? - into the warlikething. And him caring about her and wanting her to go back. They do not seem like bad people. Plus, they were hiding, not fighting. Terribly cowardly, in a totally endearing kind of way. We shall see. Could be they are the devil, yet.
More soon? Um, maybe on the Thursday schedule after Prisoner is done?
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Date: 2007-02-21 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-21 01:36 am (UTC)*laugh* That's right, you did. Only my sisters would so blithely help themselves to my laptop and stories...
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Date: 2007-02-21 01:40 am (UTC)And only your sisters? Anyone here had the chance they'd totally be all over it--with a flashdrive so they could
make copies and sell'em on ebaycarry the goods off with them.No. The thought has never once crossed my mind. Ever. Except on Sundays. And maybe Wednesdays. ... yeah.
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Date: 2007-02-21 01:42 am (UTC)*sets a new pw on computer*
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Date: 2007-02-21 01:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-21 04:37 am (UTC)...Bahadur was dumbfounded this man had been alone for so long. The Desert was full of idiots, but that worked to his favor so he would hardly complain. I like Bahadur's inner thoughts, I think it's a first that we have a Bahadur POV.
Also loved Isra conforting Sahayl, those two are so sweet together!
I'm so glad you posted Sandstorm! ^_^
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Date: 2007-02-21 07:11 am (UTC)thank you......*grins*
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Date: 2007-02-21 08:21 am (UTC)The only thing that confuses me (and I know it's a harem story, but~) is that Isra doesn't seem like the type to share. So how is that working? Am I reading him wrong?
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Date: 2007-02-21 10:47 am (UTC)and oh, question: who wrote those stories involving shah's harem and a genie, a street rat, and a magician with a talking hat? i can't seem to find links for them anywhere! thanks.
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Date: 2007-02-21 12:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-21 04:13 pm (UTC)1) Bahadur. Oh, you so brought him into his own in these three chapters. *________* For a long time, it seemed like he kind of kept to the shadows and let Shihab and Isra do the talking, but to see him get to have some one on one time with Sahayl? *_________________*!!! GYAH!!! And the way he initiated the kiss and why? *dies happily* That was the sweetest, bestest moment ever! *glomps*
2) Bahadur and the tattoos on his face. ;_; I love that you convey how much regret and shame he feels in having them and how that carries over into him not feeling like he's worthy of being a part of Sahayl's harem. I love too, that he thinks these things when everyone else around him is thinking that Jackal has to be composed of complete morons if they let a jewel like this go. ^_^
3) Wafai giving up protector to Bahadur? *melts into goo puddle* That was perfect. Even down to the part where he makes Bahadur deliver the news to Sahayl. XD *snickers*
4) I love the idea that he banished the troublemakers to Tamavarra. ^_^ They want to cause trouble, then they get to go and learn a new culture for five years. *snickers*
5) Isra getting grilled by Jabbar? *dies giggling* Poor guy, he really does have a temper and Jabbar certainly knows which buttons to push to embarress him. XD But! ;_; Now, I'm worried about Sahayl and the rest if Wasp has been playing both sides...
6) *squeals and flying tackle glomps you* Eieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!! You rock everything. Thanks for completely making my day. *hearts* ^_^
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Date: 2007-02-21 06:47 pm (UTC)Also, I have to 'fess up... Between reading Kidnapped and
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Date: 2007-02-21 06:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-22 05:46 am (UTC)(Oh, and I have no reason to mention this beyond sheer bragging or something, but for the record, the person who posted above me? By saying she started reading your stories "not that long ago," she means a couple weeks or so, and it was only because I convinced her she should. ^______^ Because your stories are amazing, so I will occasionally force them upon- *cough* introduce them to my college friends.)
Back to story... yay for Bahadur finally properly joining the harem! I love how Sahayl has nicknames for them all, it's fun. And eek, I hope Isra gets to Sahayl quickly! In the meantime, at least he has Bahadur to protect him... Ah, I really have missed Sandstorm.
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Date: 2007-02-22 07:35 pm (UTC)I can hardly wait to see what comes of the Wasps being turncoats - does this mean that the Broken Palace is compromised? Oh, that would be bad. Anyway, I'll be avidly waiting for more.
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Date: 2007-04-30 02:37 pm (UTC)