Sandstorm (13 page)

Isra shook his head. "I was simply hoping the Lady would send me toward help. My Tribe continues to move, hoping not to be found again. Another attack will leave us badly crippled, our women and children severely short of protection." He struggled to sit up, but jerked roughly away when Sahayl tried to help him. "My uncle, when he is able, will laugh long and hard that I wound up here."

Wafai chuckled softly. "Perhaps my Sheik is not the only one at whom the Lady constantly laughs."

"Sheik!" Noor entered the tent and bowed low. "Cobra scouts bring word the camp will be arriving in four hours time."

"Then make sure we are set to travel in four hours and that the injured will be taken care of,"

Sahayl replied. He hesitated, and lifted a hand to bid Noor remain a moment longer. "Isra,"

he said quietly, staring into those blue eyes. "Where is your Tribe?"

Isra stared back for a long time, a hundred emotions flicking through his eyes. At last he bowed his head and named a series of coordinates, body tense, face carefully blank.

"Send men to find the Falcon Tribe," Sahayl ordered, looking at Noor. "Guide them to our home."

"Sheik…" Noor stared at him, wide-eyed, then finally nodded and bowed. "As my Sheik commands."

Isra looked dazed but decided. "Take this," he said, and unfastened an elaborate bundle of brown and white feathers, secured with a silver medallion decorated with stars and calligraphy, from his hair. "Request an audience with Sheik Jabbar, tell him that you come at request of his impetuous nephew."

Sahayl nodded and Noor bowed himself out.

"You take many risks, my Sandstorm Sheik." Wafai looked disgruntled.

"We have no choice," Sahayl said wearily. "None that I can think of, anyway. If the Tribes continue to act as they have, the Lady will have no Tribes left to laugh at."

Wafai pointed at Isra. "How do you know he is not a traitor? He certainly fits the part. Mere days ago he hated you, swore to kill you the next time you met. Yet now he is here on his knees begging you for help."

"I do not beg," Isra snarled. "But I know what Hadge is capable of, and I may even know why they are doing this, and if I must set aside my hatred for Ghost for the time being then I will do so. Half-breed or not, I am a son of the Lady of the Sands."

"He is no traitor," Sahayl said. "A traitor would not have risked death by running blindly into the Desert on a slim chance he might find a Tribe that would be willing to help. Saa, brother of my soul, leave such ideas behind."

Wafai shook his head. "It is not like you to trust so easily."

"What makes you think it is an easy thing to do?" Sahayl replied. He looked at Isra, fingers tracing the scar on his own cheek. "I know precisely what I risk."

Isra grimaced. "I am no happier by my presence here than you, protector. I will not stab your Sheik in the back, if that's what you fear. I had my chance to kill him, I passed it by." He stared at the rug beneath him, fingers attempting to burrow into the tight weave.

"Saa, you did. I am in your debt, desert rose."

"You can start to repay it by not calling me that!" Isra snapped, anger filling his face. "I am not a flower."

Sahayl sighed. "It is not meant as an insult."

Wafai eyed them both, but said nothing though his face said he had much he wanted to say.

"Sheik," a guard stood just outside the tent. "Your advisors are here."

"Send them in," Sahayl said.

Sahayl contemplated the men gathered around his table, all of them watching him with expressions at least as somber as his own. They were not going to like what he had to say, but he could think of nothing else to do. Not in the face of all that was occurring. The Desert was not accustomed to fights of this nature. If the west was slowly destroying them, it would take an equally powerful nation to help stop them. He did not like it, but he knew it had to be done. "I am going to Tavamara," he said, and held up a hand as the advisors exploded into protest.

He could feel Wafai's glare, and carefully did not look in that direction. "I am appointing Wafai to care for matters in my place, since he understands my thoughts better than anyone. Of course he will consult with my advisors."

This time he let the protests rage for a bit, but still he did not look at Wafai. "No," he said, countering the most prevalent of the protests. "No one else can go. I know people there, people who will listen to me. I carry the authority of a Sheik of the Desert. I am going. That is the end of the matter. Now listen to my orders, for if they are disobeyed then I will not go lightly in punishing those who decided to disregard what I am about to say. Locate all the Tribes we possibly can. Bring them by night to our home. Build up the defenses. No one leaves. There will be no fighting among the Tribes. So long as they take refuge with Ghost, my word is law. Lock up those who protest but be reasonable. I do not want to return to find that the Desert has done the west's work for them. Am I understood?"

"Sandstorm Sheik," the men all said, bowing over the table. "Body, mind, soul," one said.

"May the Lady guide and protect you."

"May the Lady guard her children and guide me to the help we need." He dismissed the advisors and braced himself as the last one left.

Wafai's voice was hard. "I have never so badly wanted to kill you. What foolishness is this? If we lose you, Sahayl, we lose everything. At the very least you should let me go with you!"

"Wafai," Sahayl said, taking his friend's hand. "You are the only one in this entire camp that I completely trust. You must stay here, or everything will devolve into bloodshed. Please?"

"As if I could tell you no," Wafai said with a sight, and embraced him hard. "Hurry back, my Sandstorm Sheik. We sorely need a good leader, and I am not that."

Sahayl nodded. "I will return, and with help."

"Let me go with you," Isra spoke up from the far side of the room, where he'd sat quietly while the meeting took place. "I spent several years in Tavamara, attending school. I can help. I also understand what Hadge is doing better than you."

"You are not fit for travel," Wafai said.

"I traveled here while still bleeding," Isra snapped. "If you imply one more time that I am weak, protector, you will learn how wrong you are."

"Peace," Sahayl said. "Both of you. We have enough enemies."

"Peace," Wafai said begrudgingly.

Sahayl smiled suddenly. "There is one more thing I must do, before I leave. Wafai, come."

He stood up and strode from the tent, and beckoned Kahlil close. "Kahlil, stand as witness."

"My Sheik?" Kahlil said, puzzled.

"I hereby dissolve my marriage to the Lady Rafiqa, with all honor and affection and no ill will, and bid her marry the man of her heart with my full blessing and that of the Lady. Please see that she is so informed when you reach home." He smiled at Wafai, who stared back, stunned, and then returned the smile.

Kahlil blinked, started to speak, then simply shook his head - then nodded. "Yes, my Sheik.

The men were wondering when a ceremony would take place to honor the dead."

"When the war is over, because I am certain there will far more to honor," Sahayl said, momentary levity fading. He gripped Wafai's arm. "Tell her I said hello, and that she'd better be as mean to you as she was to me. I must pack. Your role as my voice begins now."

"Yes, my Sandstorm Sheik."

Ten

"So you studied in Tavamara?" Sahayl asked, breaking the silence that hung between them.

Isra looked up as the question broke into his thoughts, and stared a moment before finally answering. "Yes. My uncle thought it would be a good idea to send someone to learn foreign customs. I spent time in Tavamara and Lavarre." His honored uncle's theory being that a half-breed would have an easier time of it than someone of full Desert blood. He'd been wrong, but Isra had found ways of earning - demanding - respect.

It hadn't hurt, at least in Tavamara, that he'd somehow wound up best friends with the son of the King's advisor. Which brought thoughts of Shihab back to the forefront of his mind, along with every other worry preying upon him.

Of course Shihab would pick now of all times to do one of his disappearing acts. Hopefully that's all it was. With the Tribes in such upheaval, anything could have happened to him.

Stupid idiot. He let his gaze fall back to the pool of water, which rippled softly in the cool evening breeze, breaking the reflection of the moon.

"We should go," Sahayl said, standing and brushing sand from his clothes.

Isra nodded in agreement and mounted up, then followed Sahayl from the small oasis that the Ghost Sheik had warned would be the last for some time. They rode at a steady pace, wanting to get as far as they could without tiring the horses unnecessarily.

"I envy your knowledge," Sahayl said. "I once suggested we do something similar. My father did not care for the idea." The tone of his voice changed as he spoke, but Isra could not put a name to the change.

He tamped down on his curiosity and wondered morosely when he'd started being curious about Sahayl. He started to say something about how he wasn't surprised Sheik Hashim would reject such an idea - then remembered that Hashim was Sheik no longer. His uncle might accuse him of never considering his words, but even he wouldn't be that cruel -

especially to an enemy who could easily have killed him and his Tribe. "So we have eight days of travel left?"

"If we ride hard, we could probably make it in six."

Isra nodded. It really was a pity Shihab was off playing shadow somewhere in the Desert.

He'd never cared who Shihab was, but right now they could sorely use the connection his friend had to the royal palace. Even if Sahayl claimed to know people, it would still take more time than he liked for two desert savages to gain access to people who would listen to them.

"If you've never been out of the Desert, how did you meet anyone in the palace?" he asked.

Sahayl shrugged. "A former Cobra used to tutor me. We kept in touch, and from time to time he has called upon Ghost for assistance."

Isra blinked. A former Cobra. "You know Ikram? The King's advisor?"

"Yes," Sahayl said, and Isra could hear the amusement in his voice. "How do you know him?"

"I'm friends with his son," Isra said. "We met in school."

Sahayl laughed softly, but said nothing more. Isra didn't break the silence that fell, content to return to his own thoughts.

Even if they were far from pleasant. Less than two weeks ago he'd wanted nothing more than to kill this man. All of Ghost. Then again, less than two weeks ago much of his Tribe had been alive and healthy. Now Falcon and more were being led by Ghost…where? He realized suddenly that all Sahayl and the other Ghost had ever said was 'home'. "Where's home?" he asked. "Ghost doesn't have a home."

Another soft laugh, but the sound was surprisingly…warm. Not like the mocking laughs Sahayl always used in battle. "There are always people who need a place they can rest indefinitely. The very young. The very old. The sick. Even Ghost must have such a place.

Our home is toward the west, lost amongst the Broken Cliffs."

"No one goes that way anymore," Isra said. "It's desolate. Completely barren."

"Is it?" Sahayl said. "You might be surprised. We've made our home within the ruins of an old palace there. Of courser, we have also worked hard to make sure no one goes that way."

Isra drew a sharp breath - not least of all because Sahayl had just told him a secret that came with a penalty of death for revealing. But more than even that was what Sahayl was revealing. "The Broken Palace? But that's a myth."

"It's very old," Sahayl replied. "Nothing but sand and Ghosts dwell in it now."

The words took a moment to fall into place, then Isra started laughing despite himself. "I see." His laughter faded, however, as it truly struck him what Sahayl had done. The Ghost Sheik had put the livelihood of his Tribe at risk. If one thing went wrong, Ghost would be the first to die. A Tribe without a place to hide was a dead Tribe. "You risk much," he said softly,

"for Tribes that do not deserve it." One hand went to his scar, which seemed suddenly to burn.

"No one deserves to die," Sahayl said. "Nor will I let western heathens interfere in the Desert.

If I must sacrifice everything, I will do so."

Even his Tribe. Isra wondered if his honored uncle would have done such a thing. He wasn't so certain. Jabbar would go far to save Falcon, but even at the last he hadn't been willing to send Isra for help - if and when Isra returned, he would be in deep trouble for revealing Falcon's location. Even if it had been to save them.

It had also been remarkable just how unprotesting Ghost had been of Sahayl's orders. Not one had threatened to disobey the Ghost Sheik, though they would have been fully within their rights to do so in the face of such a life-threatening order.

Isra didn't like where all these thoughts were leading him. He wished desperately to return to the days when he'd wanted nothing more than to kill the man who rode beside him, to a time when he would never have trusted the Ghost Sheik to be this close, especially in the dark.

When he didn't think of him as Sahayl.

Why couldn't the Desert have just let him die? Instead here he was traveling beside Sahayl, body aching from fighting and running and worrying, mind and soul aching from everything else.

"Saa, desert rose," Sahayl broke into his thoughts. "Silence does not suit you."

"How would you know?" Isra snapped irritably. "Don't call me that!"

Sahayl was quiet a moment. "I suppose I wouldn't.," he said at last. "Forgive me the name, I am afraid it's become habit to refer to you so, as I did not know your name until recently."

Isra hunched his shoulders, furious that he felt bad. "I'm not usually quiet," he admitted begrudgingly. "However, I'm at a loss as to what to discuss with an enemy." For six more days. He was going to go insane.

"Saa, that is a dilemma. I suppose one could tell a curious former enemy how he came by such eyes. Surely even in the west, eyes the color of the sky are not common."