D & D - Red Sands Read online

  It was only fitting, she thought, that the maker of the Sudiin should grieve when so many of his children were dead.

  The sun rose higher, and a hot wind blew in from the south. The wind flung dust in their eyes and parched their throats even worse than before. They wrung the last drops from the waterskin before midday. Then the real fury of the Red Sands fell on them. The sun bore down, splitting their skins and pouring fire inside them. Though they had had only two sips of water in the morning, whole bucketsful ran off them as they trudged. A: noon approached, the very air was transmuted into fire and Jadira called a halt. No one had any appetite (save Nabul), but Jadira convinced them all to eat something Without food, they would go off their heads.

  Marix opened the food bags. The bread had dried intc tight curls as tough as sandal straps. He lifted the lid of the yogurt jar and gagged. The curdled milk was thick with weevils.

  Nabul cursed. "I should have known!" he said. "Marut always did keep a filthy shop. See if I steal anything from that son of a dog again!"

  "Weevils or no, we may have to eat this," Jadira said firmly. "Though a large oasis, Julli is small in the vast-ness of the desert, and we could walk past it unknowing."

  Marix dropped the lid on the pot and swallowed audibly. "I'll starve first," he said.

  "Ym may, my squeamish friend," said Tamakh.

  Uramettu took the pot and dipped two fingers into the thick yogurt. Tiny black weevils crawled up her hand. She put her fingers in her mouth and swallowed, bugs and all. Nabul exclaimed in disgust.

  "In my country, locusts and honey are considered a great delicacy. This 'yogurt' of yours is not as sweet, but it will sustain us on our journey," she said. Jadira swallowed, smiled ruefully, and reached for the pot.

  "I can't watch," said Marix. He turned away and crouched in the small patch of shade cast by the horse. Nabul quickly joined him.

  Tamakh stood. "You too, Holy One?" said Uramettu.

  The priest mopped his streaming forehead. "Ah, well, hmm. The rigors of our passage would be better borne if I were of, umm, finer build." He bowed his head briefly and averted his eyes.

  Jadira handed the jar to Uramettu. "Men are strange," she said. "They will rush to face a hundred swords, yet cringe at the thought of a few weevils."

  "So I have found them in Fazir as they are in Fedush," the black woman replied.

  "How long have you been in Fazir?" Jadira asked.

  "I endured four new moons in the sultan's cage," Uramettu replied. "For that long I have been forced to transform myself and satisfy the whims of the sultan." She dug her hand deeper into the yogurt.

  Resolving her apprehension, Jadira said, "I've been wondering—that is, I wanted to ask you—"

  "About my ability."

  "Yes, the changing. How is it you can become a panther? Were you cursed by an evil magician?"

  "No, no, not at all. Understand, my sister, that on the savannah there are many powerful spirits: Ontoduma, the elephant spirit; Klikka, the monkey; and many others. Each clan has a totem spirit whom they appease and worship. My clan follows Ronta, the panther. We are famed as the best hunters in Fedush, and it is to Ronta we owe this skill.

  "In some mortals, the bush spirits claim close kinship. When I reached womanhood, Ronta chose me. I went out from my village for one changing of the moon and lived as a panther. I returned and became chief huntress and wise-woman to my village sisters."

  Jadira wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Then shape-shifting is a good thing?"

  "It is a great honor," replied Uramettu.

  "Can you do it at will?"

  "Yes, but it is best if I do it fewer than four times per moon. It is easier to become a cat than to return to human form. The call of blood is powerful; the grip of Ronta so strong. Only once have I ever changed more than four times between moons."

  This remark cried out for explanation. "When?" Jadira blurted.

  "For the sultana," said Uramettu. "She . . . insisted."

  "What happened?"

  "I brought down a Zimoran bull and devoured it for the edification of Her Magnificence. The taste of blood was still with me, and I feared I would not be able to make the transformation to woman. My panther body lay in the cage for a day and a night as the change slowly took place. It was more painful than anything I'd ever borne before or since."

  They ate in silence for a time. "What will you do once we get to Tantuffa?" Jadira asked.

  "Find a way home. The slavers who sold me in the Brazen Ring never expect me to return, but when I do . . ." She opened her mouth wide and engulfed a large gob of yogurt.

  "I wonder," Jadira said, taking the jar again, "if people can change to animals, do animals ever change into people?"

  "Oh, yes," Uramettu said.

  "I believe it, for I have seen jackals who walk and talk like men." She peered into the half-empty jar. "Ym know, this isn't so bad."

  "Indeed. You and I will end by carrying our delicate male companions. Mark it, friend Jadira; it will come to pass."

  The men looked up from where they sat and wondered what the two women could find to laugh at in this awful desert.

  Captain Fu'ad clenched his teeth in futile anger. Two days out of Omerabad on the road to Rehajid, and this was the third major caravan the Invincibles had overtaken and stopped. The caravan master knew better than to protest, but his obvious evasiveness made Fu'ad's task all the harder. Already the troopers had found secreted bales of silk, jewels hidden in water gourds, and slaves not wearing owner's bracelets. All this to avoid the sultan's taxes, and in the current situation, Fu'ad could do nothing about it.

  The caravan master approached, his tiny turban perched atop his broad face. "Is there anything else the excellent captain would care to see?" he said.

  "I've seen quite enough," snapped Fu'ad.

  "Then we may continue on, worthy sir?"

  "When I give you leave!" The caravan master bowed deeply and rubbed his hands on his robe. He bowed and backed away, finally turning and shouting something harsh to his teamsters in his native dialect.

  Marad rode to his commander. "There is no sign of the prisoners," he said. "No one in the party has seen them either, sir."

  "Or no one admits seeing them," Fu'ad said in a low voice.

  "Yes, sir."

  Marad lingered, waiting for his captain's next order. Fu'ad surveyed the milling pack of horses, donkeys, camels, and men. "Where are they, my brother?" he said. "How could four people on foot have outdistanced us?"

  "Perhaps they were disguised in one of the earlier caravans we searched," offered Marad.

  "No, I cannot believe that. They are a distinctive band: a yellow-haired man, a nomad woman, a Fedushite woman, and a priest with a bare poll. No disguise in the world could shield them from me."

  A donkey brayed and bucked when a heavy basket of trade goods was piled on its back. The driver clucked and whirred his tongue to calm the beast, to no effect. The wicker hamper fell to the ground and burst open, spilling beads and brass bangles on the road.

  "Set these buffoons on their way," Fu'ad said. "We'll waste no more time with them."

  "Very good, sir. What is our destination, if I may ask?" said Marad.

  Fu'ad squinted into the setting sun. "We go on to Rehajid."

  Two columns of Invincibles swung into their saddles in unison. Their peaked helmets blazed like torches and the dying wind billowed their cloaks. The caravan cleared the road to allow the lancers to pass. The Faziris looked ahead to the blood-hued horizon.

  "I don't believe there is an oasis," Nabul said. His robes were undone and trailed forlornly behind him in the dirt.

  "Oh, be still. All you do is complain," said Uramettu.

  "How much farther do you think it is tojulli?" asked Marix.

  "Two, three leagues," said Jadira.

  "So far? I thought we'd come at least twenty from Omerabad."

  "Omerabad," sighed Nabul. "Meat. Bread. Wine!' Uramettu poked him with the bu
tt end of her spear.

  "The desert of the Red Sands misleads you," Jadira said. "One walks and walks and walks, and it seems you've surely reached the edge of the world. But I've kept count of our steps, and we've walked no more than seven leagues."

  "At least the air is cooling," said Tamakh.

  "It will get cooler still. By false dawn tomorrow, our breath will be mist."

  Marix hitched the Faziri breastplate up from his narrow hips. "I've always wanted to see the edge of the world," he said. He picked up the pace, and the rest fell in line behind him.

  They topped a long ridge of blown sand. The sun was sinking fast, and the west wind had awakened. Jadira loosened her headdress, then shook her hair and lifted it off her damp neck.

  Marix looked into the setting sun. "Now I understand why these are called the Red Sands. The ground looks like it is made of new copper."

  "Or blood," said Nabul glumly.

  A notch past sunset, stars began to appear. Tamakh hailed his first glimpse of the Fire Star.

  "There's Agma's Daughter," he said.

  "In Dosen, we call that star the Wanderer, as it meanders across heaven in a yearly course," said Marix. "What do your people call it, Jadira?"

  "Just 'Fire Star.' Our elders mark the seasons by it, and others, by methods kept secret, divine the future from its movements."

  Nabul twisted his head to see the much-discussed star. As he did, he lost sight of his floppy robe. He tripped on the front hem and pitched forward. Rolling down the dune, he bowled over Tamakh. The two tumbled face-over-fundament past Marix, past Jadira, down the slope until they smacked bottom and came to rest in a spray of dust.

  Marix jumped off the horse. Uramettu and Jadira skidded down the dune to help their fallen comrades. Nabul, as usual, had ended up underneath Tamakh. The portly cleric had his head buried in the sand like an ostrich. Nabul's feet gyrated wildly beneath him.

  Uramettu lifted Tamakh off. He rubbed his eyes and spat sand while Uramettu tried to dust him off with his own scalp lock. Jadira dropped on her knees by the half-buried Nabul and dug. The thief popped out like a rat from a hot hole.

  "Father of pig-eating dogs!" he cried. "I've had more than I can bear. Do you hear me, you Thirty Gods? More than I can bear!"

  "Calm yourself, Master Thief. You've gained no lasting hurt," said Jadira.

  "No lasting—! You may love breathing sand, you desert wench, but Nabul gan Zeliriya does not! I'm going back! Nothing the soldiers do to me could be as bad as this!"

  "You can't go back to the city. You would be killed on sight."

  "Maybe I wasn't identified. Have you ever considered that, clever woman? And even if I were captured, I'd explain what happened—"

  "Of course you will. I hear the grand vizier is a very sympathetic fellow," Tamakh said.

  Nabul smote the dirt with his fists. "It's not just! Why did the god of thieves steer you across my path? I never asked for much from life: a cup of wine, a bowl of dates, a fat merchant to pluck now and then. . . . What evil curse brought us together?"

  "Who can know the minds of the gods?" said

  Tamakh. "It remains for us mortals to accept our fate and live our lives within the patterns set for us. To contemplate otherwise is to court madness."

  "The Holy One speaks wisely, though I would add that tyranny is not to be borne. The whole man is one who is free," said Jadira.

  "Don't forget duty and honor," put in Marix.

  Nabul scratched sand from his patchy beard. "You're all mad," he said. "Your mad beliefs will be the death of us all."

  Jadira offered the thief her hand. Nabul glared at it. "Take it," she said. "Take it and go on with us to Julli. Once there, if you can find a caravan to Rehajid or Zimora, then part in peace."

  His mouth was too dry to spit. The practical Nabul grasped her hand.

  As Jadira promised, night in the deep desert grew colder with each passing hour. As stars thickened to a dense canopy overhead, Tamakh took a reading of their position. He lay flat on his back, aligning his feet to the north star. That way he was able to tell which way was north-by-west.

  Jadira rested her head on her knees. She drew the trailing part of her robe close around her legs and shivered. Next thing she knew, Marix sat down beside her, draping his Faziri cloak around her shoulders.

  "No," she said. "ou need this yourself."

  Through blue lips he bluffed, "I am used to chill. In Dosen we have snow for six turnings of the moon each year." He shivered and feigned a chuckle to cover it.

  "What is snow?"

  "Snow is, uh, very cold rain. So cold it is white and solid."

  "You sport with me. Water is not solid."

  Marix put a hand on his heart. "By my ancestors, I swear I speak the truth."

  A sharp breeze whisked the cloak from Jadira's shoulders. He replaced it, letting his arm linger across her back. While Tamakh explained the desert sky to Uramettu and Nabul stamped his feet to keep them warm, Jadira leaned her head on Marix's shoulder and drifted off to sleep.

  The thief roused her a short time later. "The priest says we should go."

  Marix yawned. "Is there any water?" he asked.

  "Not a single drop. And the horse is making odd sounds."

  The horse was standing with its knees together. Dry grunts puffed out its open mouth. Jadira lifted the beast's head and pried its teeth apart.

  "This is not good; the tongue is swollen. If we don't find water soon, the horse will die," she said.

  Marix cajoled everyone into line again. In spite of the hardship, he was in good spirits. Now that the imminent dangers of the city were behind him, he had begun to enjoy this new adventure.

  He hummed a marching song, punctuating the beat by striking the ground smartly with the heels of his boots. His pace proved too much for Tamakh, who dropped back with Nabul.

  Marix marched in place four beats and fell in beside Jadira. She smiled at his martial air.

  "What is that song?" she said.

  "This? 'The Company of Bren.' It's about a free company of men-at-arms who worked in the Eight Provinces in the time of King Barrus II."

  "I didn't realize you were a soldier."

  "Oh, aye. All noblemen's sons learn arms," he replied. "My eldest brother, who will be count one day, is a battle captain to Prince Lydon, and my middle brother is a knight."

  "And what have you been trained for?"

  "I was to be a man-at-arms, had I reached Lord Hurgold as planned."

  Jadira lowered her voice. "When we find Prince Lydon's seal, Lord Hurgold will make you a knight."

  His face shone. "Do you think so? I—"

  " AAIII!" The thief was shouting. Where the fine, dry sand had given way to crumbling shale, the ailing horse had stumbled in the loose rock and was down.

  "Get him up," Uramettu was saying. "Once down, they quickly die!"

  Nabul tugged on the bridle. "Stand, you wretched animal! Don't you dare die!"

  Tamakh came over. His ragged sandals had been cut to shreds by the rocks. "Will it be all right?" It was then Jadira noticed how drawn his formerly sleek face had grown.

  The horse kicked feebly. Uramettu said to Tamakh, "Can you do something?"

  "I have no knowledge of horses," he said sadly, shaking his head.

  It was soon over. The poor beast gave its last gasp and was still. The five stood around it, saying nothing for a long time.

  "This is the fate that faces us all," Nabul pronounced.

  "When we get to Julli—"

  The thief howled and grabbed for Jadira's throat. She clawed at his face and hands, and Marix wrenched

  Nabul's arms back.

  "We'll never get to the oasis'" Nabul cried. "It doesn't exist! We're going to wander around out here until the sun bakes us into hard red bricks! How will you lead a band of bricks, O wise desert-dweller?"

  Jadira bent over slowly and scooped up a handful of pebbles, which she flung at Nabul. "Rocks, you alley-rat! Do you know what tha
t means? Where there are rocks in the desert, there is water. Julli is near, I tell you!" she exclaimed.

  "We could have walked past it in the dark and never known it!"

  Uramettu put a strong hand on Jadira's arm and said, "He's right. He may be an uncouth scoundrel, but he is right. Now that the horse is dead, do we have any chance at all to reach this oasis?"

  Before Jadira could answer, the eastern horizon flashed red. "False dawn," the nomad woman said. "Only one notch of darkness left. I will make you all a bargain: I will scout ahead for signs of Julli. If I am not back by sunrise ..." She finished the offer with a shrug. "Let everyone thereafter fend for himself."

  Jadira knelt to unhook the empty waterskins from the dead horse's saddle.

  "I'm coming with you," Marix said.

  "No." She stood and looped the handles of the waterskins around her own neck. Looking into his concerned, pale eyes, she smiled and said, "I'll be back."

  She started off in the presumed direction. Uramettu came after her. "I will go with you. I can. smell water a league away."

  Jadira shook her head. "I must do this alone." Softly she added, "You must keep them together, Uramettu. Men have no heads for journeying."

  "As you wish, my sister. Ronta go with you and guide your steps."

  The rocks made the way treacherous. Twice Jadira slipped on the uneven surface and scored her hands and knees on sharp stones. At the top of a low hill, she turned and looked back. Tamakh's white robe stood out in the blue-black night. She waved. Jadira could not see if anyone returned the gesture.

  She walked northwest, always keeping the star Qalax dead in front of her. Tamakh had assured her this would keep her on a straight course.

  The hillocks flattened, but the soil remained stony. By the time Jadira had walked half a notch, the eastern sky was lightening. She hurried her aching legs on. But fear and need tangled her normally quick limbs, and she fell heavily on her face.

  Jadira knew she had failed. They were lost, lost in the vast Red Sands, and they would die. Her vaunted Sudiin heritage had not helped them a bit. And the worst thing was that that whining, city-soft thief would be right.