Free The Parched Sea by Troy Denning

began to fade and their sore backs felt like they would crack with the next step. When they did he down, covering themselves only with their night cloaks, they did not even notice the bone-chilling cold.
    They rose with Mar and continued westward in the dawn’s ruddy light. Rahalat now loomed directly ahead, its gray crags obscuring the largest part of the western horizon. Ruha could even see the shunned mountain’s familiar slopes of loose rock and the boulders strewn about its base. Remembering that they had been nearly seventy miles away at this time the previous morning, the widow found it difficult to believe they had come so far so quickly.
    Ruha and Kadumi rode for several more hours, and the sand gave way to stony ridges. As they started up the first rise at the base of the mountain, an amarat sounded. The pair stopped their camels side-by-side and waited for someone to challenge them.
    “We made it;’ Kadumi announced. “If guards are posted, there’s still a tribe:’
    As he spoke, a short, gaunt sentry appeared from the other side of the ridge. He waved Ruha and Kadumi the last hundred yards up the hill, then awaited them with his hands on his hips.
    As the widow and her brotherin-law reached the summit, Ruha recognized the sentry as Al’Aif, a ferocious warrior who had killed more men than anyone else in the tribe. The left side of his face was, marred by four red scars where a lion had mauled him, and a sentry’s dagger had left his right eyelid folded over at the corner. Al’Aif was also one of the men who had insisted that Ruha be banished from the tribe.
    For the moment, Al’Aif seemed content to ignore Ruha. He eyed Kadumi’s string of white camels appreciatively. “A fine string of goouds,” he commented to the boy, using the special term that applied to mature camels. “I have heard that the sheikh of the Bordjias lost ten white camels:’
    Kadumi smiled proudly. “He did not lose them. Kadumi of the Qahtan took them;’ the boy bragged.
    The frank admission elicited an appreciative smile. “The Bordjias are our allies,” Ai’Aif said. “I hope you did not kill many men when you stole them:’
    Kadumi shrugged. “No, not many.”
    Al’Aif chuckled at the boy’s swagger, then eyed Ruha. “I thought the Mtair Dhafir rid of you:’
    “And I of them,” she answered, lifting her chin. “But I return out of duty, not desire, Al’Aif:”
    Kadumi frowned at the apparent enmity between the two. “We are all that remains of the Qahtan. We have come to warn your sheikh of the danger that destroyed our tribe:’
    Al’Aif raised an eyebrow. “Does this danger have to do with blackrobed men and a caravan larger than ten tribes?”
    “How did you know?” Ruha and Kadumi asked together.
    Al’Aif pointed to the south. “They are camped at the Bitter Well. They have sent two jackals with tongues of sugared water to speak of alliances:’ The Mtair gestured at one of Kadumi’s camels, then said, “If you’ll lend me a ride, I’ll take you to camp. I want the sheikh to speak with you as soon as possble:’
    Al’Aif led the party to a gulch filled with the drooping, twiggy branches of ghaf trees and lined with tasseled sedges of qassis bushes. The tinkle of a tiny stream rang from the bottom of the draw, and the camels, thirsty from yesterday’s hard ride, bellowed angrily at not being allowed to stop and drink.
    As the trio rode into camp, the old women and the children gathered outside their tents. When Ruha passed, many of them hissed and trilled disapprovingly. One little boy even yelled at her to go away.
    Kadumi’s outrage showed on his scowling face. “This is a disgrace;” he uttered, addressing Al’Aif. “Do the Mtair Dhafir treat all their guests so wretchedly?”
    “They do not mean to offend you;” Ruha said. “Their disdain is for me alone. There is something you should-” Al’Aif lifted a hand to silence her. “They believe Ruha has shamed the tribe by violating