“There! Look!” Lander said, pointing. His lips were so dry and chapped that they cracked and bled when he spoke.
The witch obediently turned her mount around and stared to the east. She saw nothing but the darkening horizon. “What?”
“Something’s following us,” he insisted.
Kadumi joined the pair, stopping on the other side of Lander. The youth’s eyes were bloodshot, but rimmed with far less red than the Harper’s. “Where?” the boy asked.
Lander adjusted the direction in which his finger was pointing. “Right there. It’s just a shadow.”
Kadumi peered at the horizon for a minute, then glanced at Ruha and shook his head.
The young widow took a few moments to search the horizon herself. “There’s nothing there, Lander,” she said at last.
He nodded. “It’s gone now, but we’ll have to be careful.”
The widow shook her head sadly. Lander had been saying the same thing all day, apparently fearing the Zhentarim were still following. Ruha and Kadumi did not discount the possibility entirely, but they both thought it more likely that the invaders had turned back two days ago. The Shoal of Thirst was so scorching that most Bedine could not survive a journey across it, so it seemed impossible that the water-loving Zhentarim could endure such a punishing journey.
To Ruha it appeared more likely that Lander was suffering from a delirium. The combination of heat and thirst were making him imagine things. The widow forced her camel to kneel, then removed a waterskin from one of the milk-camels. She opened the skin’s mouth and walked to Lander’s side.
“Drink,” she said. “You’re seeing phantoms.”
“I’m not seeing things. Somebody is following us,” the Harper insisted. Nevertheless he accepted the waterskin, then looked from Ruha to Kadumi. “Are you and Ruha drinking?”
The youth shook his head. “We’re not thirsty,” he said. Despite what he told Lander, he could not take his eyes off the waterskin. “There is plenty of water, though. Drink.”
“If we have plenty of water, there’s no harm in you and Ruha drinking with me,” Lander countered, holding the waterskin toward the boy.
“We’ll have milk tonight,” Kadumi said. “Bedine prefer camel’s milk to water.”
The Harper snorted. “Nobody prefers camel’s milk to water.” He turned to Ruha and leaned down to offer her the water. A spoonful of the contents spilled out of the mouth and trickled down the side.
“Be careful!” Ruha said.
The Harper smiled. “I think Kadumi is not telling the truth.” He tied the waterskin’s mouth, then held it toward Ruha.
“You must drink,” she said, not accepting the skin. “You’re growing delirious.”
The Harper shook his head, then licked the blood from his chapped lips. “I may be thirsty,” he said, “but I’m not imagining things.” When she did not take the water, Lander said, “This skin is heavy. I’m about to drop it.”
“You are a stubborn fool,” Ruha said, accepting the waterskin. Nodding at the open throat of Lander’s cloak, she added, “Are you trying to kill yourself? Close your jellaba.”
The widow returned the waterskin to the back of the haggard milk-camel, then mounted her beast again. The trio turned their camels into the setting sun and resumed their trek. This time, they rode three abreast, Lander between Ruha and Kadumi, where they could keep a watchful eye on him.
As they rode, the Harper periodically twisted around in his saddle and stared at their backtrail. Ruha did likewise, just in case Lander was not imagining things and they really were being followed. She did not see any Zhentarim, but the widow did notice that the milk-camels were beginning to stumble, a sure sign that they were dehydrated. This came as no surprise to her. Under good summer conditions, a camel could go for two weeks without drinking. Crossing the Shoal of Thirst could hardly be considered good conditions, and the trio was pressing their beasts hard. The white glare of the endless flat made At’ar’s heat even more unbearable. To make matters worse, the salt prevented plants from growing in the basin, and when camels could not eat, they had to drink.
Finally Kadumi could stand the twisting and squirming no longer. As Lander pivoted to stare at the backtrail for perhaps the twentieth time, the youth asked, “Have you seen anything yet?”
The Harper shook his head. “Not since we stopped.”
Kadumi sighed in relief. “At least your delirium is not constant.”
“I’m not delirious,” the Harper responded patiently.
“And how would you know?” Ruha asked. “An incoherent man cannot tell a mirage from an oasis until he tries to drink from it.”
“This is no mirage.”
Kadumi groaned and shook his head, then the riders continued in silence. Ruha was glad that the youth had insisted upon coming along. After being rescued by her and the Harper during the Battle of the Chasm, the boy had matured a great deal, and he was proving a real asset on this journey. He was an excellent desert traveler, but more than that, his competence and steadfast attitude were a comfort to Ruha whenever Lander’s delirium began to worry her.
At’ar fell to within a span of the horizon, and her disc vanished into the yellow, cloudless sky. Air currents began to eddy around the riders, whipping their faces with invisible salt grains borne on warm, withering winds. Ruha’s eyes started watering, and she envied Lander the patch that protected his bad eye.
“I hope your spellbook is worth this,” Kadumi said. He pulled his keffiyeh off his head and wrapped it around his face like a woman’s veil.
It was Lander who responded. “Any magic is worth—”
The roar of a camel interrupted the Harper. Immediately Ruha stopped the string and spun around in her saddle. The second camel in line was collapsing to its front knees, its eyes rolled back in their sockets.
“Kadumi!” she called, leaping from her camel.
“What’s wrong?” Lander asked, staring at the dying camel.
Ruha did not answer as she ran.
The widow could not move fast enough. The haggard beast rolled over onto its side, bursting one of the waterskins it carried.
“No!” Ruha grabbed the halter and tried to pull the camel back to its knees, but its sinewy neck had already fallen limp. The widow gave up on the dead beast and stepped around to its back. There was a slight depression where the water had dissolved some salt, and a dark stain was spreading out from beneath the beast as the ground absorbed the spill. Otherwise, not a sign remained of the four gallons of water they had lost.
Ruha grabbed the collapsed skin and tried to pull it from beneath the camel, hoping it still contained a few cups of water. Kadumi moved to her side and lifted the dead camel’s back enough for the widow to withdraw the skin. There was perhaps two quarts of water remaining in the bottom.
Lander joined them a moment later. “What happened?” he asked, eyeing the dead camel.
“Exhaustion,” Ruha explained. She handed him the waterskin. “Drink.” It was a command, not a suggestion.
The Harper accepted the skin and carefully lifted it to his lips.
“It’s time,” Kadumi said, removing the waterskins from the side of the camel that had not fallen to the ground. “We’ll stop here for the night.”
Ruha ran an appraising eye over the other four haggard beasts. They all stood on wobbling knees, their flank and shoulder muscles quivering.
“We can go no farther,” the witch agreed.
Lander took the waterskin away from his lips and passed it to Ruha. “Time for what?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” Kadumi explained, moving to the head of the line. “Help me unload the camels.”
While Kadumi and Lander unloaded the first camel, Ruha allowed herself a few swallows from the skin. The water was awful stuff, hot and stinking of its container, but it refreshed her regardless of the taste. When she judged she had drunk about a quarter of its contents, she passed the skin to Kadumi and helped Lander unload the other camels.