Sandstorm (14 page)

"Former enemy? I don't know that I'd go that far. A temporary alliance, perhaps." The question about his family was borderline rude - if the man wasn't a Sheik, he'd never get away with it. He didn't take offense though; this was the first time since he'd met Shihab that someone had asked instead of making rude insinuations. Which were usually correct, but that wasn't the point. "My mother ran off to the west. For whatever reason, she had no love for the Desert. She fell in love, or at least in lust, with a man there. When he used and then left her, she ran back home. I was born, and shortly after she ran off again."

"It was rude of me to ask," Sahayl replied, "but your eyes have intrigued me since I first saw them. I met another, once, who had similarly-colored eyes. He was western, however. I am sorry your mother had no love for the Sands. It sounds like you have her spirit, however."

Isra grunted. Spirit. That was the nicest he'd ever heard it put. When he'd brought Shihab in as his tutor and lover, they'd said he had far too many things in common with her.

Blue eyes were common enough in the west. He could appreciate how they would be intriguing in the Desert, but 'the color of the sky' was a bit much. He'd much rather have eyes like Sahayl's, such a rich dark gold, marking him clearly as a son of the Lady. "What of your mother, then?"

"My mother was perhaps too soft for the Sands," Sahayl replied. "She gave up on this life many years ago."

Hmm. There was more to the story, but Isra couldn't say why he thought that. Perhaps because of his aunt. The wife of the Falcon Sheik would never be described as soft. No woman in such a position should ever be. It seemed strange that Sahayl was raised by a weak woman, and that his father had married such a woman.

They fell silent again, and Isra wondered if he wasn't the only one who didn't know what to say.

It was going to be a long six days.

"Another three days," Sahayl said, and Isra could tell he was suppressing a yawn. To cut off as much as their journey as possible, they were resting only long enough to ensure the horses didn't suffer and they didn't fall off the horses.

Isra hoped their efforts paid off, but he didn't think he'd be certain they had until everything was truly over and he was safely hidden in the Desert again.

The sun shone bright and hot but it was still midmorning - they wouldn't stop until midday, when they could rest through the worst of the heat. This close to the edge of the Desert, there would be more springs.

"There," Sahayl said, pointing off into the distance.

Isra looked and let out a sigh of relief. Speaking of springs.

"It will be nice to rest where there is fresh water," Sahayl said What Isra really wanted was to be in Tavamara. Three days had passed and still it was awkward between them. Which only made sense, but still it made long days that much longer. Even if one day they would be enemies again, it would have been nice if they'd been able to talk for a few days. Or if he'd been able to at least antagonize the man. The Lady mocked him, forcing him to behave for so long.

They continued on in the stiff silence that had dominated their journey, and Isra resisted the urge to make his horse go faster simply to get to the small speck of green and fall asleep for a few hours.

Except when they finally reached it, it was obvious sleep was not going to be possible. Two horses were already there, and as they drew closer to the spring itself Isra saw two men waiting with weapons drawn.

His eyes landed on the shorter of the two men, drawing a breath as he saw the man's eyes were a stunning green. "Shihab!" he cried without thinking, all but throwing himself off his horse and throwing himself at the other man, who ran toward him and caught him up in a tight embrace. They pulled far enough apart to remove their head coverings, then embraced again. "I'm so glad to see you alive and whole."

Shihab grabbed his face and kissed him. "You too, Isra. We've been traveling hard, but I've heard things. How is the Sheik?"

"Wounded but alive. We lost several, but the Tribe is still strong." Isra suddenly recalled himself and turned toward Sahayl, who stood quietly nearby, a pensive frown on his handsome face. "This is-" he said, but didn't get a chance to finish as the man with Shihab tugged away his own head wrap and face cover.

Sahayl's sword hissed against leather as he drew it. "You," he said, starring at the stranger.

"You bear the marks of the men who attacked my Tribe without cause. Who are you?" He looked at Shihab. "And this man, who looks western but acts like a son of the Desert." His gold eyes locked on Isra. "What is going on here?"

"My Tribe attacked yours?" the unknown man asked, and Isra was surprised at how utterly devastated the man looked. Almost heartbroken. "When?" He started to say more, but stopped as Shihab held up a hand.

"We should start at the beginning, I think," Shihab said. "Obviously we all have a great deal to explain."

"Yes," Isra agreed.

"Why don't we start with introductions?" Shihab said. He turned to Sahayl. "You I recognize by your horse, Ghost Amir."

"Ghost?" The stranger said, staring at Sahayl in surprise. "Truly?"

Isra shook his head. "Ghost Sheik," he said, and wondered how he'd wound up taking up the duty normally covered by Sahayl's protector - Sheiks and Amirs seldom introduced themselves to anyone, but this was a circumstance where he should.

"Lady ease your sorrow," Shihab said to Sahayl, bowing his head. "I am Shihab, son of Ikram, son of Tavamara."

"Ikram?" Sahayl asked, seeming to forget that he had drawn his sword. "He has spoken of you before. No wonder you seem a son of the Sands." He frowned, looking almost hurt. "He did not tell me you were visiting the Desert."

"My visit was to be a secret, Ghost Sheik," Shihab said apologetically, bowing his head.

"Though my father said that you have not been replying to his letters."

Sahyal shook his head, looking grim. "I've received no letters of late. I would wager he had not been receiving mine."

Shihab looked troubled and the brief conversation lapsed.

"Who are you?" Sahayl demanded, seeming to at last remember what had originally upset him.

"I am Bahadur, son of Galal…" the man's shoulders sagged slightly, though he was clearly making an effort not to show how upset he was. "Former son of Jackal, son of the Lady of the Sands."

Isra's eyes widened. "Jackal?" he repeated. "But that Tribe is long dead." He finally stopped and really looked at the man. He and Shihab were slender, Sahayl tended toward slender but was definitely well-muscled and filled out beneath his robes. This man was tall and wide - not a bulky sort of large like a cumbersome ox or something. No…he reminded Isra more of a warhorse. Something meant to fight. He had the dark, weather-roughened skin of the sons of the Desert. He wasn't handsome, really, but definitely striking. His eyes were pale gold, a far lighter version of Sahayl's. Like Sahayl, it was obvious this man was Desert - body, mind, and soul.

But it was his Tribal markings which really caught the eye. Across his forehead and cheeks was inked scrolling calligraphy. Isra wondered what it all meant; whatever the language, it was unique to Jackal. At the center of the calligraphy across his forehead was a small animal's head - a jackal, obviously.

Shihab snorted. "You might be surprised how many dead tribes are still around."

"Why am I not surprised you're obviously familiar with them?" Isra asked, rolling his eyes.

"Former Jackal?" Sahayl asked sharply, interrupting Shihab.

Bahadur nodded, looking tired.

"Let's sit down," Shihab suggested. "There's much to explain, on all our parts. Why are you here, Isra?" He looked at Sahayl. "With Ghost."

Isra sighed. "As you say, there is much to explain."

Sahayl sheathed his sword. "Then let us eat and talk."

"There is still one thing you have not explained in all of this, Shihab," Isra said, looking with dry amusement at his best friend. "Why you came out here to begin with."

Shihab frowned. "I'm not allowed to say, not until I am home again and can report to his Majesty. Else I would tell you, brother of my soul." He smirked suddenly. "Though if I were to disobey my orders for anyone it would be for you, oh beautiful desert rose." He ducked as Isra threw a rock at his head, laughing hard.

"I hate you," Isra said with feeling.

"Yes, I know," Shihab said. "But you can't kill me until after I make my report. I didn't play shadow for nearly five years just to let you kill me three days from Tavamara's border."

Isra grumbled and eyed Bahadur. "I don't see why you couldn't leave him tied up."

"He is very hard to say no to," Bahadur said with a wry smile.

"No, he's not," Isra said, rolling his eyes and lobbing another small rock at Shihab's head, making a face when he dodged it.

Sahayl eyed them all, shaking his head slightly. "So you are truly the shadow Wafai and I encountered?"

"That's me," Shihab said.

"A shadow," Sahayl said thoughtfully, "yet you look and act more like a fire. Some sort of shadowfire, then?"

Shihab beamed. "Thank you."

Isra groaned. "Don't say stuff like that to him. It goes straight to his head. He's already intolerable after sneaking into the camp of every single Tribe in the Desert."

"Almost every," Shihab corrected with false humility. "I never got to some, and Ghost - I gave up ages ago."

Sahayl gave a brief, proud smile. "It is good to know that amidst so many problems, Ghost remained impossible to find." It turned sad. "Even if that is no longer true."

"So you're really inviting Tribes into Ghost's sanctuary?" Shihab asked. "I still cannot believe it. So many Tribes have not been together in one place since the Broken Palace earned its name."

"Not so many Tribes," Sahayl said. "I am hoping they will manage to find a few, but most Tribes by now will be dead, too well hidden, or…"

"Or traitors," Bahadur finished, his already rough voice harsh. "It is my deepest shame that the Tribe I once called mine was amongst those who would betray the Desert. I was on this journey to help them…" He glared at the sand, unable to look up at all of them.

Sahayl looked at him thoughtfully. "The journey is not over yet."

"Yes, Ghost Sheik." Bahadur did not look comforted by the words.

Sahayl continued to regard him pensively for a moment, then took a sip of water and smiled faintly. "This is proving to be an interesting journey."

"A long one at any rate," Isra groused.

Eleven

"Majesty," Ikram said patiently, "are you trying to cause riots?"

Shah pressed the back of his first two fingers to his mouth, hiding a grin. "I have no idea what you're talking about, my friend."

"Lord Nandakumar's performance last night was most intriguing. I don't believe I've heard that particular selection of songs from him before."

"Nanda can play every song ever written and more besides," Shah said, sitting back in his chair and dropping his hand, letting it fall to rest in the hair of the man seated on the floor beside him. "What is the point in so much talent if he does not occasionally exercise it?"

Ikram rolled his eyes. "Perhaps your Majesty might suggest he choose fewer songs of a challenging nature."

Shah dropped his fingers from Nanda's hair, let them trail down his cheek. "Nanda once played a song that saved my life. He may play whatever he wants."

"Perhaps his Majesty does not realize that what his Harem is currently doing is increasing the chances of assassination."

"I am King," Shah replied. "Ever day I live with the chance that I will be assassinated, or that harm will come to my wife and children. At least this way I am more likely to drive the rats into sloppiness and catch them." His tone was calm, but his eyes were hard.

Ikram nodded. "Yes, Majesty."

"Now that you have attempted to lecture me," Shah said, hard edge fading into gentle amusement, "I do not suppose you have some manner of good news to offer me?"

"None," Ikram said. "Perhaps if your Majesty were to-"

He was cut off by the sound of the door flying open, and a guard stumbling in, gasping as though he had run a long way - which he probably had, as he wore the uniform of those who worked outside beneath the hot sun. "Majesty," he said as he entered, dropping to his knees.

"I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed," Shah said lightly. "Why do you disturb me?"

"Majesty," the man said again, bowing his head low. "Visitors. Savages from the Wild Desert." He dared a quick look at Ikram, smiling ever so briefly. "And one savage returned to Tavamara. They request an audience."

"Oh?" Shah asked. He shared a brief look with Ikram, smiling at the uncontained joy on Ikram's face. "That is a good reason to disturb me. Send them in at once, please."

"Yes, Majesty!"

Barely had the guard vanished than the doors once more flew open, and four men wrapped in the clothes of the desert - three in black, one in shades of brown - were admitted to the courtroom and escorted to the foot of Shahjahan's throne.

"Dad!" one of the men exclaimed, throwing off his head wrap and face cover before he launched himself at Ikram, who embraced his son with a rough sound.

"Shihab," Ikram said, holding his son tight. "I was beginning to think I would not see you again."

"You're not that lucky," Shihab said with a laugh. "It's good to be back." Slowly he let go of his father, then turned to Shahjahan. "Majesty," he said, dropping to his knees and bowing low.

Shah smiled. "Shihab. It is good to see you again, and in fine health. I am eager to hear your report, but first introduce me to your friends." He looked again to the three desert men kneeling before him. "Do stand up, please. Unless sitting is more comfortable."

"Not moving is most comfortable," one man grumbled as he uncovered his head and face.

"Oh…" Shah said softly, and heard Nanda's soft gasp.

The man before them was obviously half-breed - hair a true blue-black, skin a paler tone than those around him. It was his eyes, however, that really captured him, though there was something in the chin, in the sheer beauty of the man, that was also familiar. "Nanda…" he said quietly.