Chapter 2

An angry shout from Kiber, who was lashing out at one of his own men with his camel stick, attracted Auda’s attention, and he did not immediately answer Zohra’s demand. Kiber was busy supervising the unloading of several djemel, baggage camels. Under their leader’s direction, the goums and the slaves placed the wooden boxes, rattan baskets, and other items in the sand near the water’s edge. It was the mishandling of several large, carved ivory jars with sealed lids that brought down Kiber’s wrath on his goum. The slaves were not allowed to touch these jars, Mathew noted. Several handpicked goums were lowering the jars from the djemel to the sand with extreme care and caution, treating them with almost reverential respect. When one of the goums nearly dropped his end of the jar. Kiber was on him in a flash, and ibn Jad frowned darkly.

Mathew wondered what could be in the jars—possibly some rare incense or perfume. Whatever it was, it was heavy. It took two of Kiber’s strongest goums to lift a jar by its ivory handles and stagger across the sand to place it with the other merchandise stacked along the shoreline.

The men carrying the jars passed quite close to where Mathew stood in the hot sun near Khardan’s litter. The young wizard would have liked to have examined the jars more closely, for he thought he detected magical runes among the other designs carved on the sides, and his skin prickled with a tingle of fear and curiosity when he observed that the lid was decorated with the carved body of a severed snake—the same device that appeared on Khardan’s black armor. But Mathew did not have time to investigate or even give more than a moment’s passing thought to the ivory jars. His attention was focused on Zohra, and he stared at the woman with mingled anger, frustration, fear, and admiration.

She must be as bewildered and confused as I am, Mathew thought. No, more so, because he at least knew the slave trader and knew why Auda ibn Jad wanted him—the fish, obviously, although that didn’t begin to answer all the questions. Zohra had wakened in a strange place from some sort of enchanted sleep, experienced all the same uncomfortable sensations Mathew had experienced—even now she swayed slightly on her feet and he could tell that it was taking every ounce of will she possessed to remain standing. She had, apparently, no idea where she was (This disappointed Mathew. He had hoped she would recognize this place.) and yet she was regarding the formidable Auda ibn Jad with the same scornful gaze she might have fixed upon poor Usti, her djinn, for bungling a command.

Auda’s attention continued to remain focused on the unpacking of the ivory jars. Mathew saw Zohra’s dark eyes above the veil flare with anger, her black brows draw together. He knew he should stop her. In his mind he saw the slave girl falling to the sand, ibn Jad’s knife in her ribs. But the intense heat of the sun radiating up from the salt floor was sapping Mathew’s strength. Clinging to one of the poles supporting the litter where Khardan lay, Mathew could only try to warn Zohra to keep still with a gesture of his hand. Zohra saw him and she saw Khardan, who was groaning, shaking his head muzzily, and making feeble, futile attempts to sit up.

“I asked you a question, swine!” Zohra said, stamping her slippered foot on the cracked ground, her jewelry jingling, her body quivering with anger.

“Dog of a kafir! Swine!” Mathew cringed.

“I am a Princess of my people. You will treat me as such,” Zohra continued, holding the veil tightly over her face, the rising wind whipping the silken folds of her chador around her legs. “You will tell me where I am and you will then return me to my people.”

Seeing the nine ivory jars safely stacked up on the shoreline with four goums posted guard around them, Auda ibn Jad turned his attention to the woman standing before him. A glint of amusement flickered in the hooded eyes. Weakly Mathew sank down onto the hot ground, huddling in a small patch of shade cast by Khardan’s litter. Almost immediately, however, a new fear arose when the young wizard saw Khardan’s eyes open to stare about his surroundings in confused astonishment.

A waterskin lay nearby. Catching it up, Mathew held the mouth out to Khardan to drink, trying as best he could to warn him to keep silent. The Calif thrust the waterskin aside.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Khardan propped himself up on one elbow and stared intently at Auda ibn Jad.

“You stand, Princess, on the shores of the Kurdin Sea—”

“The Waters of Tarakan?” Zohra cut in scornfully. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“No, my lady.” Respect coated the surface of Auda’s voice.

He was toying with her, amusing himself because he had no other entertainment. The slaves and the goums had completed unloading the camels. The slaves sank, panting, down onto the ground, trying desperately to find some modicum of shade by crouching beside the kneeling camels. The goums stood in disciplined silence, sipping water and keeping watch over the baggage and the slaves. They appeared immune to the heat, though Mathew could see huge patches of sweat darkening their black uniforms. And he noted, as he glanced at them, that more than one turned his gaze out to sea, nodding in relief and satisfaction at the sight of the shadow growing larger upon the water.

“All know the Waters of the Tarakan do not exist,” said Zohra, dismissing the vast sea that stretched before her with decisive finality. So calmly and firmly did she speak that it seemed the sea itself must realize its mistake and take itself out of her presence at once.

“I assure you, madam, that these are the waters of the Kurdin Sea. We have reached them by traveling north from the Tel in the desert of Pagrah to the city of Idrith, then due east across the southernmost border of the Great Steppes.”

Zohra gazed at Auda pityingly. “You are mad. Such a journey would take months!”

“Indeed it has, my lady,” ibn Jad replied softly. “Look at the sun.”

Zohra looked upward at the sun. So did Khardan. Mathew watched the Calif carefully, searching for clues in the expression on the man’s face. The young wizard himself did not bother to study the orb’s position in the sky. In this strange part of the world, he was barely able to judge the passing of day into night much less the passing of weeks into months. It seemed to him to have been only last night that they had escaped the Battle at the Tel. Had it truly been months ago? Were they truly far from their homeland?

Our homeland! Mathew shook his head bleakly. What am I thinking about? My homeland. . . So much farther away than that . . . Farther away than the blazing sun. . .

He saw Khardan’s eyes widen, the man’s face grow pale beneath the growth of heavy black beard, the lips part, the tongue attempt to moisten them. The Calif looked down now upon the strange armor that he wore, noticing it for the first time. His hand ran over it, and Mathew saw the fingers tremble. Wordlessly the young wizard held out the waterskin again. This time Khardan accepted it, drinking a small amount, his brow furrowed, his black eyes fixed upon Auda ibn Jad with a dark expression Mathew could not fathom.

Zohra’s cool demeanor, too, was shaken. She darted a swift, fearful glance at Mathew from above her veil—the glance of one who has ventured blithely onto smooth, hardpacked sand, only to discover herself being sucked beneath the shifting surface.

Mathew quickly averted his eyes. She had thrown herself into this, she must get herself out. He could say or do nothing that would help her, and he dared not attract the attention of the slave trader to himself. By the looks of it, Auda ibn Jad was telling the truth. They had undertaken a long journey, apparently traveling under some sort of spell that feigned death yet kept them very much alive.

The city guards do not search the bodies of the dead.

That statement was beginning to make sense. Mathew’s hand stole surreptitiously to the globe containing the fish. Ibn Jad had given it to him originally to sneak it past the guards in the city of Kich. Now Mathew had been instrumental, apparently, in doing the same thing with the guards of Idrith. That was the reason ibn Jad had taken Mathew captive instead of killing him and retrieving the fish. Mathew recalled the moment of terror when he had awakened in the tall grass near the oasis. Seeing the slave trader standing above him, he had supposed the man meant to murder him. Instead, ibn Jad had cast him into a deep sleep.

But why take Khardan? Why take Zohra? Why bring them here? Why the ships? Where were they being taken? Surely, if he had brought them this far, ibn Jad did not intend to kill them now.

Looking at Auda’s smooth, impassive face, the unblinking eyes; looking at the waters of the sea that were growing rougher by the moment; looking at the shadow covering the water and realizing that it was the darkness of a rapidly approaching storm— a strange storm, a storm that seemed to rage only on a small part of the ocean—Mathew wondered despairingly if death coming to them this minute might not be a blessing.

“I do not like this place,” said Zohra coolly. “I am leaving.” Mathew raised his eyes, staring at her in astonishment.

Gathering the folds of her windwhipped clothes around her with one hand, holding her veil over her nose and mouth with the other, Zohra turned her back upon Auda ibn Jad and began walking due west over the cracked, tortured earth.

Shrugging, ibn Jad moved over to the shoreline and stood there, gazing intently out eastward into the storm. The goums, watching Zohra, nudged each other, many pointing at the sun and laughing. Kiber said something to Auda ibn Jad, who glanced at Zohra out of the corner of his eye and shrugged again.

Mathew stared at her, aghast. She knew, far better than he, having lived in the desert, that she would not last more than a few hours out there before the merciless heat blistered her skin and boiled her blood, before the lack of water drove her to madness. The storm wind blowing off the sea tore the silken veil from her head, her long black hair streamed into her face, nearly blinding her. Still weak from the effects of the spell, Zohra stumbled over the cracked, uneven ground, slipped and fell. Pausing a moment to catch her breath, she staggered back up to her feet and continued on, limping.

She’s twisted her ankle. She won’t get a hundred yards! Mathew realized. Halfheard words spoken by the goums indicated they were placing bets on how far she could go before collapsing. Of all the stupid, meaningless gestures! Mathew fumed. Why didn’t she just drive a knife into her heart? Was her pride that important? More important than her life?

And these people considered him mad!

Struggling to his feet, Mathew cast a wary glance at ibn Jad. Seeing him apparently absorbed in watching for the ship, the young wizard started after Zohra. She was weakening fast. Her limp was more pronounced, every movement must be causing her agony. Mathew quickly caught up with the woman and grabbed hold of her arm.

Turning, she saw who it was held her and immediately jerked away.

“Let me go!” she ordered.

At the sight of her paintwisted face, the parched lips already cracked and bleeding from the saltladen air, and the fierce pride and determination masking the terror in the black eyes, Mathew felt tears well up in his throat. Whether they were tears of pity, tears of admiration, or tears of exasperated rage, he wasn’t certain. His instinct was to take her in his arms and comfort her, let her know she wasn’t alone in the fear and despair she was trying desperately to hide. Yet the wizard had the distinct feeling that once he got his hands on the obstreperous woman, he’d shake her until her teeth rattled in her head.

“Zohra! Stop! Listen to me!” Mathew caught hold of her again and this time held on firmly. Unable to free herself, she glared at him in fury. “You’re only making things worse! Do you know what kind of death you’ll die out there?”

The black eyes stared at him unwaveringly.

She knows, Mathew thought, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Zohra”—he tried again—”whatever we face can’t possibly be as bad as that! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave Khardan! We’ve got to get through this together. It’s our only chance!”

Her eyes blinked, her gaze shifted from Mathew to Khardan, a slight smile twisted the cracked lips. Not liking the looks of that smile, Mathew glanced swiftly around.

Auda ibn Jad had his back turned, staring out to sea. Unarmed, with no weapon but his bare hands, Khardan had risen from the litter and was running across the sand toward the slave trader.

Gnashing his teeth in frustration, his heart stopped in fear, Mathew watched helplessly, expecting to see the goums rush the Calif, Kiber draw his shining sword and cut Khardan down. Instead, no one made a move. No one even shouted a warning to ibn Jad, who still had his back to his rapidly approaching enemy.

Khardan hurled himself at the slave trader, his hands outstretched.

The end came swiftly, occurring so fast that Mathew wasn’t certain what happened. He saw Auda ibn Jad sidestep ever so slightly. Khardan leaped on his back, his arms closing around the slave trader’s throat. Auda’s hands grabbed hold of Khardan’s arms and in the same, fluid movement, bent forward, pulling the Calif with him. Propelled by his own momentum, Khardan was flipped over the slave trader’s shoulder. The Calif flew through the air and splashed into the shallow water at the shore’s edge. He lay there, dazed and stunned, staring up at the sky.

“Has everyone gone insane? Are all you nomads intent on delivering yourselves as quickly as possible into the arms of Death?” Mathew demanded bitterly.

“We are not cowards!” Zohra hissed, struggling feebly to escape his grip. “Not like you! I will die before anyone keeps me captive, for whatever reason!”

“Sometimes it takes more courage to live!” Mathew responded, his voice thick and choked.

Zohra stared at him, the women’s clothes he wore, and made no answer.

Auda ibn Jad was shouting orders. Goums came running across the sand toward them. Catching hold of both Zohra and Mathew, they dragged them back to the slave trader. Other goums, supervised by Kiber, were lifting Khardan up out of the sea. They shoved Mathew down into the sand near the baggage that was to be loaded onto the approaching vessels. Zohra fell down next to him, Kiber dropped Khardan, breathing heavily, at their feet. Bending over the Calif, ostensibly to see if he was hurt but in reality hiding his face, Mathew saw Zohra looking at him, her dark eyes unusually thoughtful.

He turned his head, not wanting to meet her gaze, afraid that if she should be able to see inside him, she would see there the sick fear that shamed him and made a mockery of his words.