Just before dusk, the tinkle of running water began to echo down the wadi. The camels started snorting and roaring in excitement, and it was all the three riders could do to keep their mounts from galloping. The walls of the gulch grew steeper and became cliffs, and a carpet of lush grass soon blanketed the sandy floor.
The trio came to a stone wall stretching clear across the canyon and standing fifteen feet high. There was an ancient gate of rusty iron in the center of the rampart, but it would do little to keep anyone from crossing the barrier now. Several huge breaches gapped the wall, apparently caused by the sporadic floods that flashed down the canyon. On the southern wall of the wadi, a dozen tiny springs spilled out of the rocks, then cascaded down the cliff.
“The Sister of Rains,” Ruha said, pointing at the tiny waterfalls.
The widow led the way through the closest breach. Behind the wall, the springs collected in several small pools at the base of the cliffs, giving life to dozens of fig trees and a grove of other fruit-bearing plants. Ruha was surprised at how wild the thicket had grown since she had left, for she and Qoha’dar had worked hard to tend the garden and keep it orderly.
On the other side of the wadi, thirty feet above the floor of the gulch, lay a wide ledge where an ancient tower had once stood. Most of its stones were scattered and half-buried in sands below the ledge, but the foundation was still intact.
The widow could not stop a tear from coming to her eye. As a young girl, the oasis had been a cage to her, a cage into which she had been cast because of the shame and trouble her visions had brought down on her father’s head. Now, her mind was flooded with memories of tending the fruit trees with Qoha’dar, of ignoring her guardian’s stern warnings and exploring the tower ruins, of sneaking down to spy upon the rare khowwan that had worked its way along the edge of the Shoal of Thirst to graze at the Sister of Rains. With the Zhentarim invading Anauroch and slaughtering whole tribes, even the hot, dreary work of herding goats and making cheese seemed a peaceful and cherished memory.
“Is something wrong?” asked Kadumi, jarring Ruha out of her reverie.
She shook her head. “No. I was just thinking that this is one oasis I hope the Zhentarim never visit.”
“The only way to ensure that is to help the Bedine drive them from the desert,” Lander said. “For that, we need the spellbook. Where is it?”
“The spellbook has been safe for years,” Kadumi said, guiding his mount toward the ponds. “First, we must drink!”
Both Ruha and Lander laughed, then let their camels follow Kadumi’s. The thirsty beasts pushed their way through the hedge of vegetation surrounding the closest pond and lowered their heads to drink, ignoring their riders completely. The trio had to slip from the backs of standing mounts.
Ruha and her companions went to the next pool to quench their own thirst. Lander and Kadumi simply stuck their faces in the cool pond and sucked water into their mouths, imitating their eager camels. Despite a burning wish to do the same, modesty forced Ruha to fill an empty waterskin and drink from it.
Once the trio had finished drinking, Kadumi assigned himself the task of setting up the night’s camp. Ruha and Lander went to the collapsed tower, then climbed down into its foundation and spent an hour digging sand out of one corner. By the time they reached the floor, night had fallen.
Lander went to the camp and started a torch from the fire Kadumi had built. When he returned, Ruha took the torch and pointed to a trap door of carefully fitted stone. “Pull that up.”
Lander did as asked, then Ruha used the torch to peer down into a dark pit. It was filled with spider webs and looked as though it hadn’t been disturbed in years.
“I’ll go,” the Harper volunteered.
Using the torch to clean the spider webs away from the entrance, Ruha said, “Fine with me. You’ll find a short corridor. If you turn left, it runs down the gulch. If you turn right, it ends in at an old vault. Inside the vault, you’ll find a sealed box of sun-fired clay. That’s what we want.”
The Harper nodded, lowering himself into the cramped pit. Ruha passed him the torch, and he disappeared down the tunnel. She heard him curse once, then everything was quiet for several minutes.
Ruha began to worry that something had happened to the Harper, but, just as she was about to call to Kadumi from camp to bring her another torch, Lander returned. In one hand he carried the torch and in the other the spellbook.
“What took so long?” she asked.
“Bats.” He passed her the box, then threw the torch back down the corridor. “They were all over.”
As Lander climbed out of the pit, Ruha smashed the clay box. The spellbook remained inside. They returned to the camp, and the widow immediately inspected it in the firelight, Her old teacher’s words rang in her memory as she turned each page. Ruha almost felt as though she were holding Qoha’dar herself in her hands.
At last, Lander asked, “Any damage?”
Ruha closed the book and hugged it to her chest. “No. Every page is the same as the day I sealed it away.”
“Let’s hope that’s for the best,” Kadumi said, casting an uneasy glance at the thick tome. “Right now, though, we should eat.” He set a plate of figs and roasted hare in front of Ruha, then another before Lander.
“A banquet!” the widow exclaimed. She took the plate and turned her back toward her companions so she could remove her veil and eat.
The trio ate in appreciative silence, then cleaned their hands with sand, rinsed in the oasis pools, and tethered the camels for the night. They drank their fill of cool spring water and, making his usual cautionary statement about Zhentarim pursuers, Lander assigned watches, taking the first for himself. Ruha pulled her jellaba over her shoulders, laid down with her back to the fire, and closed her eyes.
Sometime much later, Ruha woke, still groggy and confused. The night was quite chilly and still, but something poked her repeatedly in the back. She rolled over, asking, “Is it my turn already?”
“Shhhh!” Kadumi warned.
He was kneeling next to her with his jambiya drawn and staring in Lander’s direction. The youth’s jaw was set in grim determination and his eyes were narrowed menacingly.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I heard something near Lander!”
Ruha rubbed her eyes and looked toward the Harper, who was still sleeping with his back to the fire. The light of the moon was shining over the entire camp, and Ruha could not see even a shadow within fifty feet. The image of the attack on Lander’s back flashed through her sleepy mind, and she found herself wondering if Kadumi had crossed the Shoal of Thirst to murder the Harper and avenge some imagined trespass against his family’s honor.
She grabbed the boy’s arm. “You’re lying.”
Kadumi looked away from Lander and frowned. “Why would I do that?”
Before she could respond, the boy tore his arm free of her grasp and sprang toward the Harper.
“Lander!” she screamed, reaching for her own jambiya.
The youth reached the Harper an instant later, then slashed wildly over his prone form. A saber flashed out of midair, slicing into Kadumi’s collarbone at the neckline.
The boy did not even scream. His hand went slack, and his jambiya tumbled to the ground. A dark silhouette appeared on Lander’s far side, lifting its foot to kick Kadumi’s lifeless body off the blade.
In the same moment, apparently waking from a sound sleep, Lander twisted onto his back and slammed his fist into the figure’s lower abdomen. The man doubled up, then stumbled backward, groaning in pain.
Ruha leaped over Lander and was on the assassin in an instant. He lifted his blade to defend himself, but the witch slashed at the hand holding the saber. The man screamed again and dropped his weapon. With her free hand, she grabbed the wounded arm and used it to pull the man toward her, at the same time kneeing him in the midsection. He merely gurgled in pain and threw himself at Ruha.