Sandstorm (12 page)

"To the north of Solleran are three nations that come close to Tavamara in strength - Gollen, Lavarre, and Hadge. They are separated from Tavamara by the Desert and the Great Mountains. The three countries have long made war on Tavamara, hoping to grab hold of the ports. Of the three, Hadge is the most persistent threat. Naval wars have often been fought, but not with any real success because no one wishes to destroy the ports that are the source of Tavamara's wealth. Land wars have gone back and forth across the mountains, occasionally straying into the Desert."

"Not a very effective way to go about war," the short man said. "What is the point in attacking a country so far away?"

"Tavamara is the second most powerful nation in the world," Isra said softly. "If the King felt like it, he could probably become the most powerful. If anyone with enough ambition were to take Tavamara…"

Jabbar grunted. "Surely Tavamara is used to dealing with these nations then."

"Yes," Isra said. "Except the struggle has only ever strayed to the edges of the Desert before.

This is the first time, so far as I am aware, that the western nations have purposely attacked the Desert. Always before it has been an insurmountable obstacle. We are probably the only thing that has kept the western nations from more aggressively attacking. Only the Tribes understand the Desert…or at least that is how it used to be."

"That is bad news," Jabbar said.

Isra shook his head slowly back and forth. "Until I heard him speak Hadge, it never really occurred to me the west might be behind all this. No one cares about the Desert but the Tribes. If anything, I thought one or two Tribes were contriving something." He looked at his uncle. "What do we do?"

"I don't know," Jabbar said. "My experience is in wars between Tribes, not wars between nations. For now, we pack up and head home." He pointed at Isra. "When we get there, you are confined to your tent."

Isra sighed. "Yes, honored uncle." Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Isra bowed to the assembled, making the forehead-mouth-chest gesture, then turned and strode from the Sheik's tent, picking his way through their improvised camp to his own tent.

The Desert was caught in the middle of the struggle for Tavamara.

Hadge…it didn't surprise him. On top of myriad political reasons, they said Hadge's King had very personal reasons for disliking the King of Tavamara. Namely, that one of the finest commanders to ever grace the Hadge military, a man they said held the Hadge King's favor, was now a member of King Shahjahan's harem. Isra had never spent time in the palace but he'd heard all the stories from Shihab when they were at school together.

Stripping out of his clothes, slipping into a light sleeping robe, Isra curled up in his bed and willed himself to sleep, but it was a long time before his thoughts settled enough he was able to do so.

Nine

"The sands begin to turn red," Sahayl said wearily. "What happened, Cobra Sheik?"

"They attacked us two hours after sundown," Zulfiqar said flatly. "Bearing the markings of Falcon but lacking their birds. I am no fool. Falcon always go into battle with their birds, but that is not something anyone could imitate."

Sahayl nodded. "But who is our enemy?"

"Afterwards, we checked every last one. But those still alive would not talk, and when we turned our backs they killed themselves. They were all foreign; I don't doubt most were slaves at some point. I don't understand this!"

"Not Tavamara, then." Sahayl said. "Saa, but why would the west trouble us? The Desert has nothing that anyone else would want."

Zulfiqar. "Clearly there is something."

"Saa, I would like to know what is going on in our Desert. So false Falcon attacked you…"

Sahayl frowned. "A strange coincidence, given that only a week ago we got into a skirmish with Isra at the Fox camp."

"I hope you are not suggesting what I think," Zulfiqar said, looking oddly at him for using Isra's name but not commenting. "Unfortunately, it would make sense. Too much sense." He closed his eyes. "I lost too many men tonight, Sandstorm Amir. I don't want to think that somewhere among the living lurks a traitor. Why would anyone side with the heathens?"

"When you drag him from the rock he hides beneath, ask him." Sahayl turned to Wafai. "This sounds too much like our fight with Cat several weeks ago."

Wafai nodded. "We did exactly as they wanted, attacking Cat. How many other Tribes are unwittingly playing into enemy hands?"

"How can we find them to ask?" Sahayl asked. No one knew the location of every Tribe in the Desert. Tribes had tried for years to search each other out. But the Desert was too large, and the Tribes too good at hiding, for it to ever be accomplished.

Obviously the enemy was aware of certain locations, most likely because of traitors. If it continued, even Ghost's secrets would not stand up against someone who knew the location of every other Tribe. It was a chilling thought. "We need help," Sahayl said.

Zulfiqar snorted "Who would help us? We have long prided ourselves on needing no one.

The Tribes need only the Lady. Anyone who tried to help us would then try to rule us."

"Rule what? A bunch of sand?" Sahayl flicked the words away, though he knew there was truth to them. He'd conversed often enough with Ikram, before the man's communications had simply ceased, to know that a foothold in the Desert would be a very good thing. Not only was there potentially an entire army at the disposal of whatever King claimed the Desert, that King would also have free access to the country or countries on the opposite side.

More than once he'd helped Ikram with invading soldiers. He knew how badly the western nations wanted Tavamara, if not why. If they annihilated or took over the Tribes, the Desert was theirs for the taking.

Ikram. He could ask Ikram for help. But the man had long stopped communicating…

Sahayl's eyes widened. Treachery. Traitors. Were communications being intercepted somehow? But who in the Tribe would dare? It hurt to even think such a thing. "I must go,"

Sahayl said. "Help must be found, and I must figure out how to do it. Keep my men as long as you need them; send for assistance if-"

"Amir! Sandstorm Amir!" A man on a pale brown horse came charging toward them, his horse clearly at the breaking point. "The camp! We're under attack. These men…we do not recognize their markings but they are definitely Tribe."

Sahayl nodded. "Cobra Sheik, gather your people together and bring them to Ghost. There is strength in numbers. My men have permission to lead you to our camp. Wafai! We go!

Ketcha!"

By the time they returned to camp, the battle was all over. Sahayl dismounted and left his horse at the entrance. He looked to the men standing nearby. "Report."

"They attacked roughly three hours after you left…" the nearest man said. "They took us by surprise, and fought more ruthlessly than any I've ever seen… I've never fought a Tribe like this. They're of the Desert but I do not know their markings."

Sahayl felt cold. Not by the report, though it was plenty sobering, but because not once had the man addressed him.

"Sahayl…" Wafai said softy.

"Lady…" Sahayl whispered. He strode further into the camp, stopping occasionally to hear more of what had occurred, to see how the wounded were doing, dread growing heavy in his chest the further into camp he went.

Bodies were everywhere. Friends. Enemies. He knelt down beside one and tugged away the head and face wraps. Across each cheek was scrolling calligraphy, far too elegant for him to believe it was the mark of a needle. High on one cheekbone was a small animal's head, and he thought it looked familiar, memories stirring of scrolls he had not read since he was young. "I have seen this before…" he shook his head, "but I do not recall the Tribe. Perhaps it will come to me." He stood up again. "Come."

He finally reached the far end of camp, and the shredded remains of his father's tent.

As he approached, two men stood up from where they had been conversing over something.

Noor and Kahlil. Both watched him somberly as he approached.

Kahlil bowed. "We are happy to see you returned to us alive and well…Sandstorm Sheik."

Sahayl closed his eyes, fighting back the mixed emotions that assailed him. There was no time. He would face them later. Slowly he opened his eyes. "Get all who are able to pack up camp. Cobra comes to join us. We move out as soon as they arrive. Find riders to journey to the other encampments. Tell them to break pattern and head home. We need to be there as quickly as possible, though caution should not be sacrificed for haste."

"Home?" Noor said. "Sheik, that could reveal our deepest secret to the enemy."

"An unknown enemy is killing the Tribes." Sahayl said. "We have no more time for secrets.

All that will save us is uniting. There is no other place we can safely gather. Send messengers out to the rest of Ghost to keep an eye out for other Tribes which might be in trouble." He stared out across the ruined camp. "See if we can't figure out which Tribe attacked us. These weren't imposters and I would know why." He curled his hands into fist.

"See my orders are carried out."

"Yes, Sandstorm Sheik." Noor bowed and strode off through the camp.

"Where is my father?" Sahayl asked softly.

"They seemed to come out of nowhere," Kahlil replied. "They attacked in two groups; one headed for the Sheik's tent and the other for the Amir's. We tried to stop them, but their method of attack was obviously intended to take out the Ghost Sheik and Amir at all costs -

our only advantage came when they realized you were not here. Your father is being prepared for transport to be buried at home." He started, as if suddenly recalling something, then reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a large gold ring set with a square-cut ruby.

He handed it to Sahayl, who replaced his Amir ring with that of the Sheik.

"We don't have time for that," Sahayl said heavily. "We must move quickly. The wounded will have to be left in a smaller camp until they are fit for travel. The dead will have to be burned or buried here. Lady and Tribe forgive me."

"Sheik," Kahlil said with another bow. "We will have your tent readied."

"I will need to hear full reports from all advisors able to give them," Sahayl said. "Have them ready to do so in an hour's time."

"Yes, Sandstorm Sheik." Kahlil strode off, leaving Sahayl and Wafai alone.

Sahayl drew a breath and then moved into what remained of his father's…his tent. There was blood everywhere, covering broken and upturned furniture, scattered clothes and into the elaborate rugs, smearing across ruined books and paper. Everything was in ruins. He wondered how many his father had managed to kill before they finally got the better of him in the confines of the tent. Hashim's sword lay on the ground, as did his long, slightly-curved dagger. Sahayl turned away.

"Sahayl," Wafai said softly.

"He was my father," Sahayl said hoarsely. "Relief was not the first thing I should have felt."

He jerked away when Wafai reached out to him and with a rough sound strode from the tent.

"Salvage anything of importance, destroy the rest. I never want to see any of it again."

"Yes, Sandstorm Sheik." Wafai said quietly.

"Sheik!" Noor came running toward him. "Scouts! They've captured a Falcon, and he's demanded to see you - by name."

Sahayl drew a breath. By name? He shook his head. "By the Lady, I can take no more of this today. Bring him at once - and do not treat him harshly."

"As you command, Sandstorm Sheik." Noor turned and raced off

"Sheik," another soldier came up. 'Your tent is prepared."

"Then have the Falcon brought to my tent, along with food and water. Inform me the moment Cobra arrives."

"Yes, Sheik." The soldier ran off.

Several minutes later soldiers requested entrance and Sahayl bid them enter. His eyes widened as they deposited the Falcon on the rug before him. "Desert rose…" He glanced at the guards, flicked his fingers. "Bring a healer." The soldiers vanished.

"I've told you not to call me that," Isra said, holding his side, trembling with pain. Despite that, his blue eyes were still the brightest thing Sahayl had ever seen. "You've been attacked as well."

Sahayl nodded. "Twice now. We attacked Cat some time ago because we thought they attacked us first. Too late we realized we had been tricked."

Isra laughed, a bitter sound. "Did you know you attacked us a week ago? Last night we were attacked by Cobra."

"Not possible," Sahayl said. "Cobra was attacked by Falcon just hours ago."

"Hadge," Isra whispered. "One of them…pretended to be you. He spoke in the language of Hadge as he lay dying. False Cobra attacked us last night. Most survived, because we were expecting it this time, but that is twice now they have found us."

Sahayl moved around the table, wrapped a hand around Isra's upper arm, steadying him.

"Tell us how to find your people. We can take them to a place of safety. It's where we are going, and our enemies will have a hard time following the paths Ghost takes."

"Where is safe when the enemy lurks among us?" Isra asked. "How do I know you haven't turned?"

"Saa, desert rose. You would already be dead."

Isra started to speak, but the tent flap flew open as a healer arrived.

"Let me see," the healer snapped, all but shoving his Sheik aside before setting to work on Isra, forcing him to lay down, cutting away his clothes to get a look at the cut to his side. "Not too bad," he said, tsking softly. "A few stitches, Falcon."

Isra's reply turned into a snarl of pain as the healer began to stitch. He was silent and still by the time the healer bowed and left. "What has become of the Desert, when a Falcon is healed by the Ghost in the tent of their Amir?" He frowned at the look on Sahayl's face "What is it?"

"He is the Ghost Sheik," Wafai said from where he sat in the corner, sword draw and his expression one of severe displeasure. "I would know, my Sandstorm Sheik, why you speak to a recent enemy with such ease."

"Saa, I wonder. Perhaps it because I have more important enemies to worry about." Sahayl reached up to touch his scar. "And I offered my name to the only man to ever mark me in the battle. I feel more at ease for doing so, perhaps. Did you seek us, Isra, when you went for help?"