summers old, when you banished me from the Mtair Dhafir.”
Six
When Ruha returned to her tent, Lander was gone. He had taken the waterskin she had left for him, abandoning the featherless arrow and two empty glass vials in its place. Nothing else was missing, and there was no sign of a struggle, so Ruha assumed the stranger had left of his own will.
The young widow could not understand how he had managed to leave under his own power, though she could certainly understand why he would want to leave. With the Zhentarim in camp, almost any place would be a safer haven than a Mtairi tent.
It is best that the berrani is gone, Ruha decided. It would be difficult enough to sneak out of camp tonight without taking an injured stranger along-or feeling guilty about leaving him behind. The young widow took a kuerabiche and stuffed her possessions into the carpet shoulder bag. There was not much to pack: a ground loom, Ajaman’s jambiya, an extra aba, and three veils. She did not pack her heavy cloak, for she would need it later.
Ruha did not even consider becoming a Zhentarim captive on behalf of the Mtair Dhafir. Even if the sheikh rescued the hostages, she would never be welcome in the tribe. Besides, she knew her father well enough to doubt that he would even attempt such a rescue. Sheikh Sabkhat always thought of the welfare of the khowwan first, and trying to save the five prisoners would make the tribe’s escape from the Zhentarim that much more difficult.
Still, the elders might force the old sheikh to try such a feat, for the Zhentarim had chosen their hostages well. The two elders were the heads of large families that would certainly never abandon their patriarchs. Al’Aif and Nata, the tribe’s two best warriors, would also be sorely missed. Their absence would make the Mtair more reluctant to take up arms, and deprive the tribe of combat leadership if a revolt did occur.
Ruha felt that she was the only badly chosen hostage; the Mtair Dhafir would just as soon be rid of her anyway. The young widow could see why the Zhentarim had made their mistake, however. As the sheikh’s daughter, the tribe leaders would normally hesitate to do anything to put her in danger. Ruha suspected there was more to the choice than that, however.
The pale, purplerobed man accompanying Zarud originally had struck her as being the real leader of the pair, and he had also used some sort of magic. From the way he had studied her during their original meeting, it would not surprise Ruha to learn that he had somehow sensed that she was a sorceress. No doubt, being magic-wielders themselves, the Zhentarim had concluded it would be better to have her where they could watch her.
When she finished packing, Ruha sat down to study the spells she had sewn inside her aba. She was certain she would need the wind shadow and sand whisper spells, and
she also thought that a sand lion would be useful if she ran into any Zhentarim tonight. She did not know whether to memorize any sun spells, however, for it was difficult to decide what needs the light of day might bring with it.
Ruha was still contemplating her choice when someone cleared his throat noisily outside her khreima. The widow quickly rearranged her aba, then called, “Is there someone at my door?”
“Kadumi;’ came the response.
Before inviting the youth inside, Ruha thought about unpacking her bag, then decided that she could always claim it had been packed with tomorrow morning in mind. “Come inside, Kadumi:’
The boy stepped inside, then sat very close to Ruha’s side. “One of Nata’s sons sits in the shadows twenty yards from your tent,” he whispered.
Ruha nodded. “That does not surprise me. My father knows I have no wish to be a hostage:”
“He is wrong to ask you;” Kadumi said. “You are of the Qahtan now, not the Mtair Dhafir:”
“Yes:’
The boy nodded at the kverabiche. “That is why you are leaving:’
Ruha thought to deny it, then she
Six
When Ruha returned to her tent, Lander was gone. He had taken the waterskin she had left for him, abandoning the featherless arrow and two empty glass vials in its place. Nothing else was missing, and there was no sign of a struggle, so Ruha assumed the stranger had left of his own will.
The young widow could not understand how he had managed to leave under his own power, though she could certainly understand why he would want to leave. With the Zhentarim in camp, almost any place would be a safer haven than a Mtairi tent.
It is best that the berrani is gone, Ruha decided. It would be difficult enough to sneak out of camp tonight without taking an injured stranger along-or feeling guilty about leaving him behind. The young widow took a kuerabiche and stuffed her possessions into the carpet shoulder bag. There was not much to pack: a ground loom, Ajaman’s jambiya, an extra aba, and three veils. She did not pack her heavy cloak, for she would need it later.
Ruha did not even consider becoming a Zhentarim captive on behalf of the Mtair Dhafir. Even if the sheikh rescued the hostages, she would never be welcome in the tribe. Besides, she knew her father well enough to doubt that he would even attempt such a rescue. Sheikh Sabkhat always thought of the welfare of the khowwan first, and trying to save the five prisoners would make the tribe’s escape from the Zhentarim that much more difficult.
Still, the elders might force the old sheikh to try such a feat, for the Zhentarim had chosen their hostages well. The two elders were the heads of large families that would certainly never abandon their patriarchs. Al’Aif and Nata, the tribe’s two best warriors, would also be sorely missed. Their absence would make the Mtair more reluctant to take up arms, and deprive the tribe of combat leadership if a revolt did occur.
Ruha felt that she was the only badly chosen hostage; the Mtair Dhafir would just as soon be rid of her anyway. The young widow could see why the Zhentarim had made their mistake, however. As the sheikh’s daughter, the tribe leaders would normally hesitate to do anything to put her in danger. Ruha suspected there was more to the choice than that, however.
The pale, purplerobed man accompanying Zarud originally had struck her as being the real leader of the pair, and he had also used some sort of magic. From the way he had studied her during their original meeting, it would not surprise Ruha to learn that he had somehow sensed that she was a sorceress. No doubt, being magic-wielders themselves, the Zhentarim had concluded it would be better to have her where they could watch her.
When she finished packing, Ruha sat down to study the spells she had sewn inside her aba. She was certain she would need the wind shadow and sand whisper spells, and
she also thought that a sand lion would be useful if she ran into any Zhentarim tonight. She did not know whether to memorize any sun spells, however, for it was difficult to decide what needs the light of day might bring with it.
Ruha was still contemplating her choice when someone cleared his throat noisily outside her khreima. The widow quickly rearranged her aba, then called, “Is there someone at my door?”
“Kadumi;’ came the response.
Before inviting the youth inside, Ruha thought about unpacking her bag, then decided that she could always claim it had been packed with tomorrow morning in mind. “Come inside, Kadumi:’
The boy stepped inside, then sat very close to Ruha’s side. “One of Nata’s sons sits in the shadows twenty yards from your tent,” he whispered.
Ruha nodded. “That does not surprise me. My father knows I have no wish to be a hostage:”
“He is wrong to ask you;” Kadumi said. “You are of the Qahtan now, not the Mtair Dhafir:”
“Yes:’
The boy nodded at the kverabiche. “That is why you are leaving:’
Ruha thought to deny it, then she
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