The only way to keep him from sounding the alarm was for Kadumi to silence the guard before he could reach his amarat. Ruha did not doubt that Kadumi could catch the guard unawares and kill the young warrior, but she did not cherish the idea of Nata hunting her with a blood price in mind.
As she considered the problem, an alarm horn sounded on the far side of the camp. Several men began shouting. The guard woke immediately and jumped to his feet, crying, “What is it? What’s wrong?” Fortunately he sensed the direction of the alarm, and his attention was turned toward the far side of camp.
Lander’s eyes opened, but he continued to snore exactly as he had done since being interned in the tent. Ruha couldn’t tell whether he had awakened instantly alert or had been pretending to sleep all the time.
Lander motioned toward his feet, still maintaining his snore. Taking the hint, Ruha cut the ropes with a quick slice. The berrani jumped to his feet and sprang toward the khreima’s entrance as silently as a leopard stalking prey. In an instant, he slipped his bound hands over the guard’s head. Pulling backward so that the rope caught the man across the throat, Lander dragged his victim back into the tent.
The berrani held his right arm pressed tightly against his side to avoid straining his injured shoulder, but the stranglehold still proved effective. Nata’s son grasped at the arms looped around his neck and kicked at his attacker to no avail, and Lander controlled him easily.
Finally reacting to Lander’s swift assault, Kadumi leaped to the berrani’s side and pulled the man’s jambiya from its scabbard.
“Don’t kill him!” Ruha gasped.
“Never intended to,” Lander replied, tightening the choke.
Kadumi also did as she asked, though he raised his brow at the request. Among the Bedine, ending a man’s life was not considered much different than killing any other animal—save that a man’s family might try to avenge the death. Ruha feared that Kadumi, as a youth, might not give enough consideration to what this would mean in the case of a son of Nata.
The guard soon stopped struggling, and his body went limp. Lander quickly tied the guard’s hands and feet, then massaged the unconscious boy’s chest. In instant later, the guard coughed and resumed breathing. Lander took the boy’s keffiyeh and stuffed the scarf into the guard’s mouth as a gag, then bound him to a tent pole.
Kadumi relieved him of his belt, scimitar, and scabbards, then asked, “What now?”
Before Ruha could answer, the sound of ripping fabric sounded from the rear of the khreima. The young widow spun around to see the blade of a scimitar slicing through the tent wall. Taking the guard’s scimitar from Kadumi, Lander cautious stepped toward the gash, motioning to Kadumi and Ruha to do likewise.
An instant later, Al’Aif stepped through the hole he had just created. In one hand he held the scimitar that had opened the khreima, and in the other he held his jambiya. When he saw the trio standing unfettered and the unconscious guard bound to the tent pole, he raised an eyebrow and sheathed his dagger. “You were expecting me, I see.”
Lander nodded, but Ruha and Kadumi stared at the scarred warrior with their mouths hanging agape.
“Come on,” Al’Aif said. “Kadumi’s camels are watered and packed.”
Ruha refused to move. “You killed Zarud and were ready to let me pay the blood price,” she said, fingering her dagger. “Why should I trust you now?”
“I do what I do for reasons of my own,” he answered, meeting her gaze squarely. “I never intended to let Sheikh Sabkhat send you—or anyone else—to the Zhentarim. You can trust me.” He turned to the back wall of the tent and spread open the gash he had created, then motioned for Ruha to step through.
When Ruha still did not move, Lander urged her toward the exit. “We can trust him. For his plan to work, he must help us escape. He killed the Zhentarim to prevent the tribe from allying with the invaders. If we’re gone in the morning, the sheikh will have no choice except to flee.”
“Or to fight,” Al’Aif said.
“That would be very foolish,” Lander said. “The Zhentarim have a large army and their commanders are sure to be capable.”
The scarred Mtairi shrugged. “Fight or flee. It is the same to me—but never enslavement!” He reached toward Ruha to urge her through the slit, but the widow jerked her arm away and stepped outside before he could touch her.
Outside, the tasselled silhouettes of several qassis bushes perfumed the air with their stringent aromas. Fifty yards to the west, the bushy shadows of ghaf trees and the tinkle of the stream marked the gulch. On the other side of the tent, Rahalat’s dark shape towered high over the moonlit sands, and a heavy sense of impending doom settled over Ruha.
The others stepped out of the tent, then Al’Aif silently motioned for them to follow him. The scarred warrior led the small group across the gulch, then around the shoulder of the mountain. After perhaps an hour of picking their way past thorny salt-bushes and scrub brush, the scar-faced warrior stopped at the edge of a small draw. In the bottom of the dry wadi were the milky silhouettes of Kadumi’s camels and the darker outline of his brown gelding. The gelding and two of the white camels were fitted with saddles, while the remaining beasts were loaded with baggage.
Kadumi pointed at the third saddle. “That doesn’t belong to me,” he said. At El Ma’ra, he and Ruha had outfitted their beasts from the possessions of the dead tribesman, but they had only needed two saddles and had not thought to pick up an extra one.
Al’Aif laid a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Consider it a gift from one warrior to another.”
Kadumi smiled at the older man. “Thank you, Al’Aif. Some day, I shall repay you a dozenfold.”
“When you are the sheikh of the reborn Qahtan, no doubt,” the scar-faced warrior said, giving Ruha a salacious glance. He turned to Lander. “Find someplace to hide until morning. The Zhentarim have sent spies to watch us, and they are lurking about in the sands. You will find it easier to find their trails and avoid their hiding places during the day.”
The berrani nodded. “Sound advice.”
“Go with the favor of Kozah, berrani,” Al’Aif said, turning back toward camp. “You shall need it.”
“My thanks for our rescue.”
“No need to thank me.” The scar-faced warrior did not look back. “If I had known you were doing so well on your own, I would not have bothered.”
The trio descended into the wadi and inspected Kadumi’s animals. Their humps were firm from a day of good grazing, and their bellies were bloated with a fresh watering. The baggage camels were loaded with full waterskins, a khreima, and kuerabiches filled with dried fruits, meats, and extra clothes. There were even two scimitars, a pair of bows with two fulls quivers, and an extra jambiya.
After he had finished his inspection, Lander said, “It appears Al’Aif is truly anxious to be rid of us. We have everything we need for a long journey.”
“He is truly a generous man,” Ruha commented cynically. “But where are we going?”
Taking the three heavy cloaks off a baggage camel, Lander said, “That depends upon what your tribe does and where the Zhentarim go, at least for me.”
“Why?” Ruha asked. “What are the Zhentarim to you?”
Draping a cloak over her shoulders, the berrani said, “The Zhentarim are evil, rapacious, and they intend to enslave the peoples of the desert. I have come to help the Bedine defeat them.”
“How?” Kadumi asked. “If an entire tribe cannot defeat them, what can you do?”