Ajandor made no move to take it.

"Keep it, lad, it fits your hand quite well. I was puzzled what to do with it, but now I see that I have an heir after all."

The Shifting Sands

Peter Archer

13Kythorn, the Year of Wild Magic

The camel's hooves kicked up clouds of dust that added to the swirling mist surrounding the travelers. A hot wind howled around them, tearing at their robes, driving the dirt into every crevice of their clothing, probing them with harsh fingers, seeking to hurl them across the rolling plains into oblivion.

Both men clung to the swaying saddle, their heads bent against the storm. The camel soldiered onward, its head bowed stoically before the blast. Its footsteps were almost immediately buried behind it by sheets of fine gray that blew across the desert steppes, making it appear that the travelers had never been there.

One of the men, the taller of the two, turned in the saddle and shouted something to his companion, who bent his head to hear. The smaller man shook his hood and gestured forward. The other gave a shrug and again bent against the wind.

A flash and thunderous report echoed across the dunes of Anauroch, almost knocking the men and their faithful beast over.

The tall man turned and shouted to his companion, "Lighting! In the middle of the G.o.dsbed.a.m.ned desert! We must stop."

"No!" The other was equally vehement. "We keep on."

He reached behind him and slapped the camel's rump. The beast started forward again, and another report knocked it to its knees, tumbling the travelers to the sand. The camel panicked and darted forward.

The tall man recovered first and lunged after the beast. He had not gone five steps before a third thunder blast, much louder than the previous two, electrified the air around them and hurled them facedown in the sand. Their robes whistled and snapped with the impact.

The shorter was the first on his feet this time. Through the whirling sands of the storm, he could see a black ma.s.s a few yards from where he lay. Smoke rose from it and was whipped back by the wind, which also carried to his nostrils the sickening smell of burnt camel meat. The saddle and other accoutrements that had been on the creature had been hurled aside by the lightning strike.

As if the storm had expended its last ammunition with this disaster, the wind dropped and the sand settled around them in a fine rain then ceased. The howls and shrieks of the sandstorm wandered to the west, pa.s.sed over the next dune, and faded from their ears.

Both men walked forward on unsteady feet to view the remains of their mount. The taller glared at the shorter.

"I told you we should have stopped."The other shrugged. "If we had, we'd be lying there, cooked to a turn. You don't suppose that lighting was hurled by chance?"

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, the merchant was probing amid the supplies that had been scattered around the carca.s.s. The taller man-whose face the desert sun now revealed as scarred and pitted, worn by weather, age, and drink- glared at him and repeated the question.

"What do you mean by that, Avarilous?"

"I mean, my dear Garmansder, that we're dealing with people who would think no more of killing you than of stepping on a spider. You'd do extremely well to keep that in mind. You'll probably live longer if you do."

Avarilous's eyes flickered from side to side, and his fingers, laced across his fat belly, wore a complicated gesture.

Garmansder's eyes widened, then he glared at the merchant and raised his voice. "I know precisely what I'm dealing with: a twisted little serpent who can't tell the truth without his forked tongue falling out of his mouth. I should never have agreed to travel with you, even for the gold you're paying. You'll regret it."

From the sash around his waist, he had drawn a scimitar and brought back his arm for a blow.

There was a sudden crack of a whip, and the blade flew from his hand to land sticking in the desert sand twenty feet from where he stood. Garmansder cursed volubly and spun around.

Behind him, in a dark line, stood a band of Bedine. Their black robes flapped in the wind, but apart from that they were motionless as statues. One, clad in a robe of red, was clearly the leader, standing a bit forward of the others. In his upraised hand was the whip with which he had disarmed Garmansder.

Avarilous cautiously raised one hand, palm outward.

"Peace be upon your* tents, my friends. I stand in your service. My friend and I have lost our camel and had despaired of finding our way when you ..."

His voice trailed off as the Bedine moved around them, surrounding them and efficiently disarming them. From Garmansder's robe, the tribesmen pulled a pair of ugly looking daggers. From the merchant, they took three throwing stars and a slender blade that had been strapped to one of his stout legs. All this was done in unnerving silence. The travelers' hands were bound tightly behind them, and they were linked together by a short rope. One of the Bedine took the end of the rope and gave it a sharp jerk.

At a gesture from the red-robed leader, the party started forward in the direction Avarilous and Garmansder had been travelling. They mounted the next dune and saw a herd of camels, standing quietly, chewing their cud. Two or three Bedine stood near them, guarding the pack. Without a word, they mounted and rode on.

Like most Bedine settlements, the travelers did not really see this one until they were upon it. The dun-colored tents blended with the endless sands and revealed their presence only by a soft flapping in the wind. A few faces peered from the tents to look upon the strangers and then* silent captors as the tribesmen led the caravan to the largest of the tents. Avarilous and Garmansder were jerked roughly from their perches and dragged inside.

A small fire burned in a brazier at the center of the tent. Some of the smoke escaped through a hole in the roof, while the majority swirled and eddied on air currents. The strong smell reminded Avarilous that the Bedine, in common with most desert dwellers, used camel pads for fuel. Garmansder coughed and retched then coughed again. His face was scarlet and shiny.

Around the edge of the tent were seated a row of robed figures, who stared coldly at the two strangers. Avarilous sat quietly on the floor as his captor muttered in the ear of one of these observers.

Garmansder, having recovered from his coughing fit, gazed wildly around the scene.

"What are we doing here? What do they want?" he snarled to the merchant.

"Be silent." Avarilous's voice was cold and decisive, unlike his usual whining tone.Garmansder sat in silence for a moment then made a desperate lunge for the tent entrance. Haifa dozen hands s.n.a.t.c.hed him back in an instant, and a curved dagger appeared at his throat. Avarilous did not move a muscle.

One of the robed figures-he to whom then- captor had spoken-flicked back his hood, revealing a head of graying hair and dark, smoky eyes.

"Why do you come here?"

The words were dropped like rocks into a silent well. Their ripples spread outward through the tent across the ring of seated figures.

Avarilous waited a moment before replying then said calmly, "I am the merchant Avarilous of Calimport, and I am delivering goods from Loudwater to Whitehorn. This man is my companion, one Garmansder. Our route led across Anauroch, since we did not wish to detour far to the south, and-"

"Stop!"

The Bedine held up a hand.

"It is true that you are Avarilous, but we know too well the sort of goods you deliver. You are a dealer in information and stolen goods. You may have come from Loud-water, but your home is not in Calimport. Reports of your intrigues range from the pa.s.ses of Icewind Dale to the jungles of Chult, from the Utter East to the Sword Coast." "Nonsense!" Garmansder snorted. "I've traveled with this man for months, and he's no more a spy than I am!"

Avarilous said nothing.

The tall man looked at him in amazement then in fury. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

He lunged at the merchant and was brought up short by a trio of hands that clamped him in place.

He glared angrily at Avarilous and snapped, "Next time 111 know better than to take up with a fat man with a shifty eye."

The Bedine who had spoken turned to Garmansder and said, without change of tone, "You know little of your companion, it seems. He travels the lands, meddling in the affairs of people whom he does not know. He has performed commissions for the fallen Azoun of Cormyr, for the rulers of far Ulgarth, for the Red Wizards of Thay. He is a horse waiting for hire, on sale to the highest bidder. Some say Avarilous is not his real name, but none know precisely who he is."

Avarilous ignored the outburst of his companion and stroked his chin before conceding the point.

"Very well. Let us suppose there is some truth to your statement. What has this to do with you?"

The Bedine shrugged. "It is of little concern to us," he said. "Your reputation is that of a man who dabbles in political intrigue for money. We have little or no interest in the affairs of the rest of the world, except when they affect the tribes."

Avarilous nodded thoughtfully. "I see. From the fact that we are here, I suppose you have something in mind. Something that affects your tribe, at least." He stretched, and Garmansder was suddenly reminded of a cat unsheathing her claws.

The Bedine leader made no response, but Avarilous nodded, as if he had received confirmation of his statement. "Perhaps you might tell me, first, with whom I have the pleasure of dealing."

The Bedine leader bent forward and said, "I am Sheik Omar Lha.s.sa Bin-Daar, ruler of the Bin-Daar Bedine, counting two hundred and seventy-five camels, six hundred and twelve goats, one hundred and fifty-four sheep-"

Avarilous raised a hand. "Quite. That's sufficient. Proceed."

It was startling to note how the fat man had taken control of the discussion. To Garmansder's eyes, though, Bin-Daar showed little resentment. He leaned back against a cushion and drew on a hookah that lay near to hand before resuming his speech.

"As you doubtless are aware, the Zhentarim, they of the black robes, have long maintained a route through Anauroch. We Bedine have tolerated its existence out of consideration for the people it supplies, though we could have destroyed it long ago-"

"So you say," interrupted Avarilous. "In fact, allowing it to exist provides you with a steady supply of caravans for raiding."

Bin-Daar ignored the comment and continued, "At various oases along the route, bands ofZhentarim have created their own settlements, extracting tolls from travelers along the road. For the most part, we ignore them, though we have sometimes raided them, thus serving the interests of the righteous of Faerun."

Avarilous's cynical smile informed Garmansder in what spirit the fat man received this statement.

Bin-Daar coughed gently, as one approaching the heart of the matter. "Of late," he said, "we have seen much activity at one of these oases, one near our lands. The dark-robed ones are becoming increasingly bold, striking out against our tribesmen. Where before they were content to leave us in peace, now they seem determined to destroy us. It would almost seem as if there is something they have found of which they do not want us to learn."

Avarilous's body was relaxed, his pudgy body stretched out along the ground, resting on one elbow.

His eyes were sleepy, half hooded, but the observant might have noticed a glitter within their depths.

"Rumors have come to us of a great excavation by the Zhentarim in this place." Bin-Daar snapped his fingers, and one of his councilors thrust a roll of goatskin into his outstretched hand. "They are digging... here."

His finger jabbed a spot on the crude map that adorned the goatskin. Avarilous looked at it.

"Humph. Near Hlondath. One of the Buried Realms."

Bin-Daar nodded. "Precisely."

Garmansder broke into the conversation. "What's Hlondath? And what does this have to do with kidnapping us?"

Avarilous spoke without looking at his companion. His voice was far away.

"Hlondath was a mighty state that existed centuries ago, after the fall of Netheril. It faded away, buried by the desert sands, but some say that there was buried with it some of the mighty magic of lost Netheril. Many have come searching for those items, but few have been found, and most of the explorers have vanished into the sands." He looked carefully at Bin-Daar. "I take it you think the Zhents have found something."

Bin-Daar shook his head. "I do not know if they have found anything, but I suspect they are looking for something. Something they do not wish others to find. Something that might make them a more powerful force in Anauroch."

"Why should they have any more success than in the past?"

"Because-" Bin-Daar dropped his voice-"because of the coming of the City of Shade. Its return may herald a new rise of Netherese magic, one the Zhentarim hope to take advantage of. If they found an artifact of ancient Netheril, they could use it to forge an alliance with the Shadovar. That would be disastrous for my people. They must be stopped."

"What does that have to do with us?" growled Garmansder, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

Bin-Daar's eyes never left the fat merchant's face.

"I have a proposition for you, Avarilous."

The merchant stretched his pudgy legs, which had grown cramped from kneeling. "I'm aware of that."

For the first time, Bin-Daar's face showed surprise. "You are aware? How-" He stopped and nodded slowly, as if satisfying himself on some point. "So," he continued, "we did not find you. You found us."

Avarilous shrugged. "I had heard you were looking for me. I simply put myself in a place where we were likely to meet."

"Why?"

"Your situation interests me. I've heard of this excavation, and I suspected you or one of the other Bedine tribes would try to stop it. An outright attack on the site would be disastrous for you, so you had to resort to other means. As I say, I heard you were looking for me."

"You might have told me," growled Garmansder. "If I'd known who and what you were, I'd have run from you as fast as I could. As it is, I want nothing to do with any of this."

Bin-Daar chuckled softly. "You will aid Avarilous in his mission," he told the mercenary. "Yourreward will be far more than whatever he has promised you."

Greed flickered in the tall man's eyes, but he held his ground. "It's all very well to talk, but where there's Zhents, I don't want to be watching my back all the time, and I don't trust him."

Bin-Daar's mouth curved in a smile that did not reach his eyes. "I do not trust him either, but he is a powerful weapon. A warrior in battle does not ask where a sharp sword came from, only that it cut true."

Garmansder snorted. Avarilous sighed, and his stomach rumbled.

"Can't we do this over food?" he asked plaintively. "I'm starving."

The Zhent guards had had a sleepy afternoon, basking in the shade of their tent, shielded against the blazing sun. They pa.s.sed the time throwing dice and drinking raki, a powerful liquor distilled from the stunted bushes that covered the hills around the oasis. By midafternoon they were dozing, half drunk, and not in a mood to be disturbed.

One nudged the other then roused him with a kick. The two men rose and stood, swaying slightly, watching the travelers approach.

They were mounted on a camel, but the one riding in front, the stouter of the two, had his hands bound tightly together, while the other held the end of the rope. As the pair drew nearer, the Zhentarim could see that the fat man had a streak of blood down one cheek and an ugly bruise over his left eye.

The camel halted before the guard's tent, and the thinner man jumped down easily, leaving his bound companion seated on the beast.

"Hail!" he said, in a voice sc.r.a.ped raw by the desert winds. "I want to see your commander."

The more sober of the two guards spat in the sand. "Hah! What for?"

"I have something for him." The traveler jerked the cord he was holding, pulling his prisoner off the camel. The captive crashed to the ground with a loud grunt of pain.