D & D - Red Sands Read online

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "The panther is Uramettu."

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

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

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

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

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

  "Cursed," mumbled Nabul, turning away.

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

  "I am grateful you did not spear me, friend Jadira," said Uramettu. She adjusted the spare scrap of linen that was her clothing and stood up.

  "Be grateful to Tamakh. He recognized you, not I."

  "My thanks, Holy One."

  "Not bad for a fat cleric, eh?" said Tamakh with a wink.

  "How is it you come by this power?" asked Marix.

  "It is not unknown among my people," the woman from Fedush replied. "While I was in panther form, I was captured by Zimoran slavers. When they saw my true shape, they knew the sultan would pay well for such an addition to his menagerie."

  Nabul stripped the dead man of everything he had. Armor, weapons, coins, and clothes he flung in a heap by the road. Tamakh handed the soldier's mantle to Uramettu.

  Marix led the horse to her. "Since you defeated the enemy, by right of combat the horse is yours," he said.

  "I don't think the poor fellow would appreciate me on his back." As it was, Uramettu's presence caused the horse to roll its eyes and quiver.

  "Someone ought to ride," Marix declared.

  "If the choice is mine, let the holy man ride," Uramettu said.

  Tamakh's eyebrows rose. He pointed to himself and said, ""Vbu think me infirm?"

  She shook her head. "I meant only to defer to your elder feet," she replied.

  "My aged feet express their gratitude." The priest mounted clumsily. He unhooked the waterskin from the Nangoli's saddle and shook it. "Nearly full."

  "We'll need every drop," Jadira reminded him. "We're leaving the road."

  "But why?" asked Nabul.

  "Consider what would have befallen us had we met a troop of horsemen instead of one. Why, the four of us ran about like headless geese before Uramettu vanquished him. What could we do against real cavalry? No, we must leave the road and use the desert to shield us from the sultan's soldiers."

  "We'll die out there," Nabul predicted.

  "If we do, I am sure we won't die with full pockets," said Marix, eyeing the thief.

  They buried the mercenary by the road. Jadira began to distribute their meager possessions. Sbe started to hand Nabul the spear but changed her mind and gave it to Uramettu.

  "This is too much," Nabul grumbled.

  Jadira handed Tamakh the cudgel.

  Tamakh said, "As a cleric, it is not proper for me to bear an edged weapon. I would rather bear no weapon, but as we are not all reborn in the kindly warmth of Agma—"

  Nabul cut him off. "Why is she deciding who'll carry what? She seems to be deciding everything."

  "Jadira seems best suited to get us across the Red Sands, just as you were our best guide in the backstreets of Omerabad," put in Tamakh.

  Uramettu agreed, saying, "I will follow her."

  They all looked to Marix. He said, "Jadira is our best

  chance to get safely across the desert. However—" he glanced at her—"it is only right that we all speak our minds."

  "Are you satisfied to let me lead as long as we are on the Red Sands?" she asked Nabul, hands on hips. "Or do you profess to know the desert better than I?" Nabul made a terrible face, but he did not dispute the division of the meager spoils further.

  Jadira kept the dead mercenary's sword, as Marix had one already. Nabul retained only his dagger. The five had two skins of water, a bag of wheelbread, and one medium-sized pot of sour yogurt. The provisions were hung from the saddle rings.

  By the dying light of day, Jadira addressed her comrades: "Northward lies the great oasis ofjulli. The oasis is at least ten leagues from here. There we will be able to find caravans, traders, and the supplies we need for the journey to Tantuffa. It will be hard going, as we cannot spare time to dally. When the Cobra rider fails to return, the sultan's men will scour the Rehajid road first. Unless the sultan wishes to challenge the Red Sands on equal terms with us, we will be safe once we leave Julli for the high desert. There we will be in Mitaali's hands.

  "If the gods favor us, we should reach Julli early tomorrow."

  Marix of Dosen had always believed deserts were infernos both day and night. He rapidly changed his mind on the Red Sands. By the time the Fire Star rose in the southwest, he was blue with cold. The Faziri cloak was a pretty piece of cloth, suitable for parades, but it held precious little warmth.

  The others trudged on in silence, conversation crushed by the enormity of the desert around them. Jadira led the horse as Tamakh rode. At midnight, he dismounted and bade her ride in his place. She demurred until Marix pointed out that if she fainted again, he, for one, was not going to carry her across the desert. The rocking motion of the horse soothed Jadira's tired body, and she slept, as nomads often did, slumped over the horse's neck.

  In sleep, Jadira left her companions. She journeyed through seasons past.

  The vale of Al Mirah ... a small cleft in the hills of Tabraq, flowing with sweet water and green with palms and shrubs. It was there, in the windy season of Jadira's thirteenth year, that she had met and been betrothed to her second cousin, Ramil gan Rustafiya. Ramil was renowned among the Sudiin for his patience. This was good, as his bride-to-be was equally well known for her fiery temper. The girl Jadira rode like one of the Demon King's own. She talked back to her elders and let her headdress slide down in disarray; her mother despaired of ever marrying her to anyone suitable. But after the steady Ramil dined twice in the tent of Ifrim, Jadira's father, the match was made.

  A1 Mirah. The couple clad in white, their heads uncovered, walked down into the sacred spring of I
shat. They annointed each other's head with cool water, said their vows, and they were married.

  Ramil was a skillful herdsman. His goats waxed fatter than anyone's, and he tended them with devotion and care. Jadira fended less well. She chafed at the chores of domestic life. She wanted the freedom of her youth back. Soon her rides alone across the Red Sands were the scandal of the tribes. Neither Ifrim nor Ramil could convince Jadira she was behaving most immodestly.

  Have babies, old Ifrim urged. They will slow her down. Ramil considered. And considered. And then—

  In a pass through the lower Shammat Mountains, the red-cloaked Invincibles swept down on the Sudiin. The nomad men were slain where they stood. Women were herded into weeping knots, to be picked up by foot soldiers following the cavalry. Sudiin children saw their entire world trampled under the black hooves of the sultan's imperial horsemen.

  Jadira fought. With tent poles and goat-goads, she fended off the laughing Invincibles until she was completely surrounded. The ring of lances closed on her. An officer with a golden lion on his helmet commanded her to cease her resistance.

  "When goats ride horses and men give cheese!" she shouted, and flung the iron-tipped goad at the officer. It pricked his horse, and the beast immediately hurled the officer to the ground.

  The Faziris stopped laughing. One dismounted and rolled his commander over. Dead. His neck was broken.

  It would have been simpler had they slain her on the spot, but that they could not do. Captive women were by Faziri law the property of the sultan. The Faziris tied Jadira to a post. A dozen Sudiin men were dragged before her and, one by one, beheaded. Among them was Ramil, son of Rustaf. He said nothing before the sword blade fell. . . .

  "Jadira? Are you well?" said Marix. She opened her eyes. The horse was plodding on, its hooves sinking in the soft sand.

  "What—what is it?"

  "Forgive me," he said, his face flushing. "You were sobbing. I thought—?" He finished the sentence with a

  shrug.

  Jadira sat up and wiped her cheeks. "It is nothing. Whose turn is it to ride?"

  "Couldn't we rest a while?" said Nabul. "My feet bleed!"

  "Liar. You have better sandals than anyone else," Uramettu said. Nabul glared.

  Tamakh drew himself up and exhaled loudly. "I would like to pause for a time, too. We have walked since sunset, and it is now near midnight. I think we have a sufficient lead over any pursuit."

  Jadira put a leg over and slid off the horse. "One notch for rest. That's all we can spare," she said. Marix agreed and soon was stretched out on the sand, snoring.

  Nabul lay down and turned his keffiya around to cover his face. The hood billowed and puffed like a frog's throat each time he let out a snore. Uramettu dropped on her belly. She scooped warm sand onto her back and legs, wiggling deeper and deeper until only her head showed.

  Jadira unhooked the waterskin from the saddle. It was half-full, all the water they had left. She held the bag under the horse's nose. As a nomad (and a black-band Sudiin at that) she knew the horse was the key to their reaching Julli alive. Men will tolerate a certain lack of water, knowing some awaits them ahead. Horses will not. When thirsty enough, a horse will lie down and not get up. If that happened, they were doomed.

  Tamakh moved away from the others, fluffed out his toga, and sat cross-legged on the sand. He was troubled. Though pleased at their successful escape from Omera-bad, he was bothered by the thuggery they had been forced into. In his heart be was a peaceful man, and the doings of the past two days oppressed his spirit.

  In times like this, he turned to his deity for help. As lamakh leaned forward to chant his mantra, something hard jabbed his ribs. He searched in his robe and found the iron key that had opened his fetters and Uramettu's cage. He contemplated the key.

  Iron was sacred to Agma. Other elder gods and spirits were venerated in gold and copper, silver or bronze. But out of the fire of the forge came iron, the hardest and strongest of metals. Agma sat on a throne of iron, deep in the flames of his ethereal plane.

  Agma . . .

  Tamakh felt his inner self rise out of his flesh. He saw the dunes fall away beneath his feet. The tiny black dots on the sand were his friends. A powerful voice filled his mind.

  Tamakh.

  "Yes, Great One?" he replied.

  Do you know me?

  "You are Agma, Master of Fire, Forger of Iron and Men."

  I am He. I have come to warn you, Tamakh. Danger lives all around you. You must be wary.

  "What will become of us, Great One?"

  Peril lies ahead, devoted.

  "Can we overcome it? Should we turn back from the Red Sands?"

  Keep to your path, devoted, but know that death follows you. It rides hard to catch you.

  "What form does death take, great Agma?"

  I see two score and ten men. Their arms are long and sharp. Much blood falls from their hands, devoted.

  "How shall we escape these men?"

  You must use every bit of knowledge you have. You must rely on the strength of your companions, on your wits and their courage. Be not afraid to help the weak and the small, for they shall carry you over a great barrier.

  "I-I do not understand, Great One. Who could be smaller and weaker than us?"

  Rejoice for the fire that burns in the sky and beware the man who walks unseen.

  "But—" Tamakh protested, but the cold and gloom resumed. He was shaking, and he returned to consciousness to find Jadira had him by the shoulders.

  "Wake up, Tamakh!" she said. "It's time to move on."

  "Uh? Yes, yes, very well."

  Nabul finally got his wish and mounted the horse. Or tried to mount; he swung so vigorously over the pommel he kept going and landed head-first in the sand on the other side. Grinning widely, Uramettu pulled him out and set him gently in the saddle.

  "There, my friend. Now hold on tightly," she said. Nabul managed a sickly smile and turned his head to spit out the sand he had swallowed.

  "Which way?" said Marix.

  "North by west," said Jadira.

  "Under the second wheel of the Chariot," Tamakh said, pointing to the sky.

  Walking again, Jadira fell into step beside the priest. She said, "You amaze me, Holy One. I would've thought you would be the first to fail out here, but you seem as fresh as a desert rose."

  Tamakh glanced down at the iron key, still in his hand. Agma's vision had made the homely object sacred. He rubbed it fondly.

  "We all have our secret strengths," he said.

  The Faceless One

  The brightening of dawn found the companions trudging up the slope of a particularly large dune. Uramettu was leading. She stopped suddenly, and Nabul, stumping along behind her, trod on her heels. "What're you doing?" he asked testily.

  "Quiet!" Uramettu hissed. "I heard something."

  They halted and stood poised to fight or flee. "I don't hear—" Nabul began, but Uramettu glowered down at him and he subsided. And then they all heard it. It was a full note, melodic and sustained, sighing aimlessly over the barren sands.

  "What," asked Marix, "was that?"

  Nabul shuddered. "I don't know and I don't want to know."

  "Music, perhaps," Marix offered. "Like a great reed

  pipe"

  "Do you suppose someone's out here playing music?" Nabul said sarcastically.

  "It's not music," Jadira said to Marix, "it's a voice." With this cryptic statement, she led them up to the summit of the dune. There she held out her hands and said, "Behold The Faceless One."

  The rim of the dune dropped away ten paces, then the sand flattened out. In the center of this depression stood a statue. It was a colossal piece of sculpture. The rectangular base reared four paces high, and more seemed buried in the earth. Seated on this sandstone pedestal was an enormous stone figure at least fifteen paces tall. The head bore a flaring headdress in red stone that draped over the broad, cracked shoulders. The torso was flat and masculine; a sugges
tion of strength still remained in the carved muscles. The legs and the hands resting on the knees were well-defined, but all the facial features had eroded away.

  "What is it?" Marix asked. "Or rather, who?"

  "It is The Faceless One," Jadira replied. "It has no other name."

  The colossus's sightless visage stared at the eastern horizon. The ghostly voice boomed out from it again. Nabul and Marix clapped their hands over their ears. Uramettu and Tamakh winced at the powerful sound.

  "Why does it moan so?" asked Uramettu.

  Jadira shrugged. "No one knows. And we do not know who carved it, how such a thing was moved here, or why it was made."

  Nabul flopped down on the crest of the dune. "How does it make that noise?" he whined. "Surely it will split my head!"

  "There are many stories of why it sings. Each tribe has its own legend . . . some say he is a god who mourns his blindness. Some say he was a mortal still being punished for some ancient evil—but no one has any idea how it sings. The cry is most often heard just at sunrise, though some claim to have heard it at sunset. The Sudiin sage

  Akhrim the Blind once heard it at noon."

  "It makes me sad," said Uramettu. "Crying in the desert seems so lonely!"

  The sun lifted clear of the horizon and its rays bathed the colossus in warm orange light. After a minute the sound came again, more muted than before. Marix felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He said, "A faceless thing of stone, and yet my heart is uneasy at its song."

  In silence they watched the singing colossus for several long minutes. Finally Jadira broke the spell, saying, "Pity will not help it now. We should be off."

  They skirted north of the colossus, and as they passed, four of the five glanced up at the towering figure.

  Jadira did not. She kept her eyes on the western horizon, where the shadow of the colossus reached, seemingly to infinity. As the figure sang a final faint note, Jadira's face veiled briefly with pain. She had not told her own idea on why the colossus mourned. Akhrim the Blind had taught the Sudiin children that the statute was a likeness of the god Mitaali, father of all nomads.