As at El Ma’ra, the invaders had razed all the khreimas, and the odor of singed camel-hair still hung thick in the air near the charred tents. There were Zhentarim fire rings everywhere, many of them still smoldering, and every combustible thing in camp had been burned. The entire area was littered with the hides and bones of half-eaten camels, and it appeared that even one or two dogs had been roasted.
The trio studied the ghastly scene in silence for several minutes before Ruha asked the question still troubling all three of them. “What happened to the bodies of the Mtair?”
Lander shook his head without speaking, then walked toward the edge of the camp. After picking up a waterskin to replace the one that had fallen off the mountainside with Kadumi’s gelding, the widow and the youth followed with the camels. The companions soon found the spot where the Mtair warriors had made their stand. Crossbow quarrels, arrows, and broken-bladed weapons lay scattered along a quarter-mile battleline. Along the entire course, the sand was mottled with the brown stains of dried blood. Here and there lay camels or fleet-looking dogs unfortunate enough to have been caught in the crossfire, and Lander even found a golden jackal that had somehow gotten mixed up in the battle.
There were no human corpses. At El Ma’ra, the Zhentarim had taken care not to leave any of their dead behind, so Lander had not expected to discover any Black Robes or their reptilian mercenaries. On the other hand, he had expected to find the Mtair Dhafir’s dead warriors. Instead, all he saw here were shredded abas, blood-stained keffiyehs, and discarded jambiyas.
“Look at this,” Kadumi called, motioning for Lander to join him and Ruha.
The youth had discovered a trail of long, splayed-toed tracks. “Good work,” Lander said, recognizing the footprints as those of the Zhentarim’s mercenaries.
The trio followed the trail around to the north side of the mountain to a wadi they had not been able to see from their perch atop the ridge. As they approached the edge of the dry gulch, the thick odor of blood and entrails assaulted their nostrils, and all three of them nearly wretched. Lander motioned for the others to stand back, then stepped to the edge and peered down into the draw.
The bodies of the Mtair Dhafir lay scattered along the bed of the gulch, dozens of vultures feasting on their remains. If Lander was sickened by the desecrations of the scavenger birds, he was outraged by the mutilations that had been performed upon the bodies before the vultures began their grisly feast. The entire khowwan looked as though it had been attacked by man-eating beasts. The soft parts of their bodies had been ripped open and savaged as he had seen Sembian bears do to deer and other large game.
Kadumi and Ruha stepped to Lander’s side.
“What happened?” asked the widow.
To Lander’s surprise, his companions were not staggered by the sight. Their faces showed anger and outrage, but there was no sign of horror in either of their expressions.
“The men ate the camels,” Lander said, wondering if all Bedine were made of such stern stuff. “The reptilian sell-swords ate the men.”
“There must be over a thousand mercenaries with the Zhentarim,” Kadumi said, studying the gruesome scene with a thoughtful air. “A few hundred could not have eaten so many.”
“True, but this points out the Zhentarim’s weakness,” Ruha said. “The invaders must be running low on their food. Perhaps they will starve, after all.”
“If that is going to happen,” the Harper said. “We must reach the next tribe before the Zhentarim feed it to their mercenaries. Can we do it?”
Ruha nodded. “Colored Waters is a week away. With Kadumi’s extra camels, we should easily overtake the Zhentarim.”
The youth frowned at his sister-in-law. “Do you know who is camped at Colored Waters? Are they allies of the Mtair Dhafir?”
Ruha shook her head.
“Then perhaps it is not our place to go with the berrani,” he said. “Even if they let us into camp, those camped at Colored Waters may not believe us.”
The widow shrugged. “I see no harm in helping Lander,” she said. “Besides, it is our duty to avenge the slaughter of the Qahtan and the Mtair Dhafir, is it not?”
Kadumi regarded the corpse-filled wadi for several moments, then nodded. “It is.”
“Good,” Lander said. He glanced at the bodies uncomfortably. “Is there anything we should do?”
Ruha shook her head. “N’asr’s children took their spirits away last night,” she said. “There is nothing we can do but reach Colored Waters as fast as we can.”
Lander did not understand what she meant, but he felt he should follow his own custom and warn the spirits about the dangers they faced in the Realm of the Dead. He stepped to the edge of the wadi, then called in a clear loud voice, “Dead ones, Cyric—er, N’asr—has denizens everywhere. Remember your gods and keep their faith. If you doubt your gods, you will suffer as surely as the wicked.”
When the Harper turned away from the gulch, Kadumi was openly smirking at him. Even Ruha’s eyes were twinkling as she asked, “What did they answer?”
“It’s sort of a prayer,” Lander explained.
“It sounded like advice to me,” Ruha countered. “Have you visited N’asr’s camp?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how can you give advice to the dead?” demanded Kadumi, forcing his camel to kneel so he could mount it. “You don’t know what they’ll find.”
Lander started to explain that he had learned about how the Realm of the Dead worked from his Cyric-worshiping mother, then thought better of explaining his family history. Instead, forcing his own camel to kneel, he simply said, “It can’t hurt.”
“That’s right, Kadumi,” Ruha said, also kneeling her camel. “After the vultures carry off the spirits of the dead, Lander can say whatever he likes to the corpses.” She climbed into her camel’s saddle, then added, “Now, if they start talking back, we’d better change our minds about riding with him.”
Lander flushed, uncertain as to whether or not the widow was poking fun at him, and uncomfortable in either event. He mounted his camel and urged it to its feet. “I told you, they never talk back.”
Kadumi laughed, then commanded his camel to rise and pointed the way into the desert.
On the western side of Rahalat, the sand dunes grew smaller and more yellowish in color. Within two miles, they assumed the parallel, ridgelike pattern of transverse dunes. To Lander, the sands resembled nothing so much as a lake of golden waters on a breezy day. In the wide troughs between the dunes, the sand was no more than a few inches deep and the camels found the going quite easy.
The dunes themselves rose no higher than thirty feet, with gentle slopes leading both up to and down from the crest. Where the Zhentarim had crossed them, the passage of so many thousands of feet had often pounded a small pass through the ridge. These passes made travel even easier, for they often reduced the height the Harper’s small company had to climb by as much as ten feet.
As he reached the summit of one of these passes, Lander paused between its ten-foot walls and looked over his shoulder. He saw that the ground had slowly been rising as they rode away from the Shunned Mountain. The great whaleback dunes on the eastern side of Rahalat lay in an immense basin. From this distance, they looked like a stormy ocean of ice. Remembering the effort it had required to struggle over one of those monstrous dunes, the Harper was grateful for the easy travel through these golden sands.