Mawdliyah had gotten already in stables first doubts whether it was a good idea to flee the house of her father. Somehow had her servant and slaves lost the respect for her. Until the incident with the horses, no serf had dared to question her command.
What if this band would completely forget who their lady was? Maybe they would kidnap her and sell her in Umbar as slave? But despite these fears, she had to retain her dignity under all circumstances. She had to impress her companions. Therefor she was determined to abide every hardship during their journey without the slimmest of muttering.
Probably held the others her for being spoiled and thick-headed. But she would prove them to be wrong! So far, the plan of escape was unfolding magnificently. She herself had brought the guard soldiers at the upper city gate a wine skin with a strong sleeping-inducing drug and had explained to them, it was a gift from her father who wished that every man in the upper city would have a goblet of wine tonight. As the wishes of Abu Feisal were usually seen as order, the five guards had hurried to drink the wine in front of her eyes.
That had been about two hours ago and as they now passed the gate, the soldiers were lying snoring in the guardhouse. Behind the high gate led a broad ramp down into the lower city. The way went pass closely the garrison and the Rastullah sanctum and Mawdliyah allowed herself a quiet mumbled prayer to the Allfather. In the grove of mercy the small company held for a moment. The Sharisad shuddered of anticipation. The hardest part lay yet in front of them. They had to pass the city-gate that was not opened under normal circumstances before the breaking of dawn.
»You know still what you are supposed to say?« With a questioning gaze, she looked at Fenthal.
The Northman nodded.
She gave him the diligent folded parchment beneath which she had set the seal of her father and the Rohir took the lead of the group. Reluctantly, she slid a mucky brown kaftan over her and concealed the head with a bleached cloth. Shuddering did Mawdliyah think of the possibility that her father would come to know that she had used his seal. To place a wrong seal beneath a document was considered among the merchants one of the most wicked crimes. She remembered how they spoke still today of how years ago a scriber had copied a seal and both of his hands were cut off. After that they had sewn the man into a sack and tossed him into the bottomless mud pits of the saltlake.
Her father was considered a very strict man in that matter and Mawdliyah was certain, he would not have mercy on her, only because she was his own flesh and blood.
That she forged the seal, she had breached with him forever. Two hours ago she had still seen the adventure that lay before her. But now doubts were gnawing on her. Once they had the city-gate behind them, there would be no turning back.
Mawdliyah turned around and looked to the white wall that surrounded the, on a rock plateau standing, upper city. There she had spend almost her entire life and now she could never return there. She had to shoo away these thoughts! A magnificent future awaited her. What she left behind was no more but a golden cage. She regarded her companions. The strong Rohir with the flaming red hair, the shy Omar who was observing her covertly when he thought that she would not notice, and Nedime who just as well had clothed herself in the garments of a man and had concealed her face with a hattah, the large headscarf of the nomads of the desert. These three were the key to her future. She had to trust them.
Fenthal waved her to hurry. Once more did Mawdliyah check the position of her headscarf then she climbed up into the saddle. Soon had the group crossed the grove and traveled through the narrow bazaars that led south to the city-gate.
It was completely still. Except for the dull striking of the hooves of the horses no sound penetrated the night. To Mawdliyah the forsaken, dark alleys appeared eerie. At day, the bazaars were filled with the shouts of craftsmen and haggling merchants. There was such a crowd then, that it became impossible to pass the narrow alleys with a litter or a mount. But now there was not even a straying cat. Yes, it appeared as if the city had been deserted. Was that an omen? Was this eerie silence maybe a sign of Rastullah who wanted to warn them from an impending disaster?
»We need to take care of your horse.«
Mawdliyah was startled. Completely absorbed in her sinister thoughts, she had not noticed how Omar had led his horse to her side.
Without a word he grasped the reigns and brought her steed to stand. What was he doing?
The former slave jumped out of the saddle and removed the cloth that had been bound around the hooves of the horses.
One could easily perceive that Omar had been born into freedom and not as a slave. Just like Nedime he could withstand her gaze longer than the other serfs in the palace of her father, who always looked shyly to the ground when she came into the near. Furthermore, he did not seem to be dumb. It had been his idea to wrap cloth pieces around the hooves. First she had laughed about it, for the streets of Hayabêth were not paved and the hooves would hardly make a sound on the solid stomped sand in the alleys. But although Mawdliyah had thought her plan of flight well through, she had forgotten about the stone ramp that led into the lower city. She lay so close to the garrison that one could touch the building's wall at some spots with an out-stretched arm. How great would have been the danger if the sound of the clapping hooves would have summoned a drowsy guards unto the walls!
Mawdliyah smiled. They said, that all of the tribes out in the desert had some bandit blood in them. And it appeared as if also the unremarkable Omar had gotten a part of it.
It took a while until he was done with the animals, for neither Fenthal, although he understood a lot about horses, nor Nedime went to aid him. A last time did Mawdliyah look on the walls of the upper city that were even in the darkness not hard to make out and almost did she expect to see her father with his fists risen in anger to the sky. Then the Sharisad turned away and grasped for the amulet that she wore around her neck: two tiny, of pure dwarven gold polished feet. They should protect from accidents, for nothing did she fear more than to be hurt on her legs or feet. Should that happen, then her future of a dancer would be gone.
Finally was Omar done with his work and the small company began to move again. They crossed the last alley, drew an arch and passed the plaza before the gate. A heavy beam barricaded the high, two-winged city gate. There was no guard to be seen, but behind a window of one of the two towers that flanked the gate, shimmered the yellow light of the oil-lamps.
Fenthal jumped out of the saddle, drew his dagger from his broad weapon belt and knocked strongly with the pommel against the door of the tower.
»Wake up, you riffraff! I am riding in an important matter for Abu Feisal the Magnificent and demand that the gate may immediately be opened.«
Not two breaths later, the door of the guard tower swung open and an unshaved man with the yellow badge of the town guard on his hauberk stepped out.
»What is so important that it cannot be delayed until sunrise?«
»My master, Abu Feisal, sends me and these three servants to Tarfui. One of his guests has insulted him and proclaimed, the Shadif of my master were nice to look at but not suitable for a ride through the desert. My master has hence bet, that even the lowest servants can ride on such a horse in one day to Tarfui and back again. So let us pass, for tomorrow by sunset we must be back.«
In the meanwhile, two more soldiers had stepped out of the tower, regarded the splendid beasts and whispered with one another.
Mawdliyah lowered her head and sought for the veil that she had pulled up till beneath her eyes. Silently she prayed to Rastullah that the men would not regard the riders just as intently as the horses.
»Why do you take the bundles of wares and additional horses with you? Does that not slow you down?« The two soldiers stood now directly in front of her.
Fenthal shrugged his shoulders. »My master wishes that at certain spots in the desert, we bind cloth pieces on the bushes. The markings shall prove that we have been riding indeed till Tarfui and did not shorten our journey through some trick.«
»What costly bet!« Also the unshaven stepped now out of the tower and regarded the horses.
»Magnificent animals you are riding there. It is only quite baffling how much water you carry with you, where as to this time of the year there are enough wells along the road, that have water. May we maybe throw a look unto the cloth in the package? We want to make sure that the honored Abu Feisal has not been robbed and ...«
Mawdliyah's heart was pounding up to her throat. Now they were done for. She sought for her small dagger on her belt. rather would she take her own life than endure to be taken into custody by the 'Yellow Hearts' as the city guard was snidely called.
»How dare you, you mangy son of a jackal?« Fenthal roared so loudly that it could be heard surely to the first houses at the other end of the plaza. »You miserable bastard who lies here on guard duty at the city gate like a dog on the threshold of its master. See the document that bears the seal of my lord! And if you do not believe that I act on his command then hold me here and make sure that Abu Feisal looses more coin than your pitiful kin would possess in the next hundred years.«
The leader of the guards had retreated one step and raised appeasing his arms but Fenthal did not mind the gesture and bickered on.
»I know that you have never possessed a more noble mount in your life than a emaciated goat, but you should have heard that not unless in hardship, one would never give a Shadif the dirty water of a well on this road, to drink. We carry water from the sources of our master with us, to let the noble horses drink from, you brainless arrant fool!«
The soldier laid his hand on the handle of his saber. His body was shaking of anger. Sadly did Fenthal not have a least sense of tactfulness in the high art of insulting. His words would have brought a simple man into wrathfulness. But a warrior could not ignore such an insult. He had to call the Rohir out for a fight, or he would loose his face forever.
But before the soldier could draw his saber, his comrades fell into his arms.
»Leave it, Achmuded! You make yourself unhappy! Sully not your blade with the blood of an unworthy heathen.«
»I will cut him up and feed his insides to the pigs of my mother«, Achmuded hissed. »Let go off me.«
One of the warriors turned to Fenthal.
»I have recognized the seal of Abu Feisal. Now climb down from your saddle and open the gate yourself. And make haste, for I know not, how long we can yet hold our friend in his just anger.«
»Why do you not let go off him and ...«
»We thank you for the gallantry with which you defend the life of our friend«, Omar interrupted the Rohir.
Mawdliyah exhaled in relief. Neither she nor Nedime could have intervened into the argument without betraying themselves for their voices.
By now, Omar had jumped out of the saddle and began to remove the heavy beam from the bracket.
»Help me already, you flame haired hothead.«
Fenthal hesitated. He appeared disappointed that he had not been able to cross blades with the guard.
Mawdliyah guided her horse next to him.
»Get a move on that you get out of the saddle and help Omar, before the guard may yet realize what is going on here.«
Angrily muttering, Fenthal dismounted and helped.
As first did Mawdliyah pass the high gate. Worried she looked to the east. Already began the night sky to become brighter over the rim of the mountains. It would only take a few hours now before the sun would rise. They had not much time to find a way on the dangerous saltlake. Maybe the theft of the horses had been discovered already and the house of her father was in uproar. All too soon would Mawdliyah know whether Rastullah favored her errant or supported the just wrath of her father.
If there were two things that a Saltstrider could not afford then it were haste and fear. More than one hour they rode already on the edge to the Uchinebi without that Nedime could have decided to lead her lady and the others on the unsteady crust of the big saltlake.
Ever again did she regard the jagged plains before her with narrowed eyes, only to give the others a wave to ride yet a bit more to the north.
Years had passed since Nedime had been standing at the shore of the great saltlake. Still today was she pained by nightmares of the last day that she had spent at the Uchinebi. Her father had just brought a business with a big salt caravan to an end. Only a few days before, her mother had vanished. Nedime had been certain back then that the lake had gulped her as she was looking for salt cliffs that were suitable to be cut into large salt plates with which the Saltstriders were trading.
But her father had not wished to hear any of it. Instead of mourning, he was driven by anger and proclaimed that she had fled to look for the heathen with whom she had set her child into the world. Her father had never been friendly to her. Out of malice he had inflicted the scars of the Saltstriders on her, because his friends had made him compliments on what a pretty little daughter he had. That she, Nedime, was a bastard in truth, her father had never recognized. Until that day that her mother had vanished.
But as her nefarious class was known, no one raised his voice against the decision that her father made as he, one day traded her for two camels to the rich salt merchant Abu Feisal. Her screaming and crying had not moved her father and none of the others. No one found it strange that he sold the bastard, that his wife had brought along.
The overseers of Abu Feisal had to bind her on a pack-camel to lead her away from the Uchinebi. Ever again, she had been whipped in the house of the rich merchant because she had tried to flee. Only as Mawdliyah had chosen her as her handmaiden, better times had begun. Her lady had even promised to give her free once they had reached the land far beyond the desert.
But her dream of being free would be so quickly gone like a picture drawn into the sand, if she would not find quickly a way unto the saltlake.
The Uchinebi was not just an enormous plain of white shimmering salt midst the desert. Here mingled fields of quicksand with hundreds of sources and geysers that spew forth in unpredictable distances a brew of saltwater and sand. At some spots, small lakes had emerged through that, which uppermost crust had been dried through the searing heat and became hard. But still, somewhere deep under the surface of the saltlake the geysers were at work so that one could never be certain whether the tricking ground of the salt could suddenly break up. Alone an experienced Saltstrider recognized where the crust was thick enough to carry a steed or a man. But even these veterans got lost at times and it appeared to be a law that no one who made his living on the Uchinebi died of age.
The unusual consistency of the lake was also responsible for that it had no flat surface. The pressure of under earth sources raised the salt crust that had evolved slowly up until they broke at some point. The largest part of the salt crust sunk then into the bottomless deep of the lake, but these blocks that were attached to solid ground remained and in time they were formed by the wind that always led fine sand and splinters of salt, into bizarre cliffs, that at times reminded of human shapes from a distance. Some of the old slaves of her father had even said that the souls of those that had been devoured by the Uchinebi tried to get back to their bodies in that way.
On other places, where the salt geysers were on safe ground, their emission had build over the hundreds of years great ranges of hills. These were the places that the Saltstriders sought, for here they could win the white gold of the desert in the safest possible way. But good places were rare, for often the salt contained things that made it inedible for Man and beast alike and did not even allow it to be used in the basins of the tanneries.
Some of these sources spew forth slag, several steps into the height, that was accompanied with stinking sometimes even poisonous smoke. There was also a spot where an old man guarded a source which steam allowed it to see into the future. But Nedime's false father had never taken her there. Maybe it was better so. For would she have known about her future, she would have sought for her death on the Uchinebi.
»By Ulmo, just look over there!«
Fenthal's voice ushered Nedime out of her thoughts. The bodyguard pointed to the south, where somewhere beyond the horizon lay Hayabêth. A small cloud of dust had risen there.
»Riders!« Fenthal turned around and spit before Nedime into the sand. »You know, lass, we can still decide whether we die on the saltlake or are executed in Hayabêth. They will probably forgive the Sharisad, but not us. Lead us now on this accursed lake, or I will ride alone.«
»Only a few hours more and you will have a tongue like a dried date. Then you will regret that you spit out before me, loud-mouth. And in regard to your cockiness, just ride hundred steps into this direction there and you will disappear forever along side your horse.« Nedime would have liked to see that the Northman left them. She disliked the brutish warrior.
But sadly he was right. Although they had not found yet a suitable spot to ride unto the lake, they had no choice.
»Dismount and follow me!« Nedime swung herself out of her saddle. Carefully she sat one foot before the other.
The Uchinebi had no recognizable shore like other lakes. In its borders mixed salt and fine dust. To the salt sources to the west there was still a march of half a day to be tread. But also the borders were no less dangerous than the tricky plains of salt that awaited them still, for here were lying large fields of quicksand.
»Remain on my track.« A faint tingle traveled through the limbs of the Saltstrideress and an uneasiness befell her that she had to overcome, or she would do mistakes.
Half her childhood she had lived on the saltlake and as she had learned the secrets of the Saltstriders, she had gone out often alone to seek for new places for a camp. But never before had she led a group. It had always been only about her own life.
»Omar, take the palm branch that we cut in the grove in the city. You go as last and wipe clean our trail.«
The young man nodded shortly and obeyed. Nedime liked the reserved former slave. She had noticed him already before he had become a hero after the fight with the lion. Somehow she could not understand how he was a free man and she was still a slave. For her, nothing had changed through his deed. One did not become a different man after all when killing a beast. Only the long way through the desert would truly reshape him! Here they were all nigh death. And they would only survive if they helped one another. When they left the river Poros behind them, then they would truly be free.
Maybe Omar would until then have realized that it was vain to long for the Sharisad. Mawdliyah loved no man for his own being. She loved only those who brought her closer to her destination. How long would Omar need to see that? Nedime shook her head. She must not let herself be distracted by such somber thoughts. She had to observe the sand! Had to find a safe way!
»We do not even have as much time left as fifty drunken Rohirrim need to saddle their horses at Edoras, then the riders will have us!«
Nedime looked over her shoulder. She was lost on Fenthal's strange way to estimate the passing of time, just as the others that looked now to the south. The dust cloud on the horizon had gotten bigger and had come recognizably closer. In its center, nigh by the ground, gathered a dark mass. It had to be at least ten riders that followed them. Maybe even more.
Fenthal began to sing a song in an indefinable tongue. He had taken his axe from the saddle and held it in his arms like a child.
»Would you say your bodyguard that I cannot hearken to the voice of the sand, if he sings his moribund-song, milady!«
Nedime would have loved to send the redhead straight into the deepest and darkest pits. She must not let herself become distracted now. Thousand little signs she had to notice. The manner, in which the wind was carrying the sand before himself and the complicated wave patterns that it drew in the heat. And especially the gnashing of the sand beneath her feet she had to hearken to.
The ground was unusually soft here. By every step she sunk ankle deep into the fine mix of salt and sand.
The Sharisad had a short but sharp exchange of words with the Rohir. In the end he stopped his singing and mumbled only a melody.
»I am sorry, but he rejects on being still entirely.« Mawdliyah's voice sounded annoyed and devoted. »He says, he needs to make peace with his gods. Ulmo or so he calls the idol that he prays to. I think it is a big fish.«
»Then we will have much aid to expect from his idol in the desert and ...« Nedime stopped. Her foot had sunken just a little further than by the step before. She raised her arm so that the others would halt. Now she felt the light pull. Her foot continued to sink. Afraid, she took a step back.
The sand held her, as if an iron hand had grasped around her ankle. She freed herself with an energetic yank, where it would have almost been costing her boot. Intently she regarded the wave pattern that the wind had drawn here on the ground. Then she waved to the others, to make a sharp turn to the left.
»Wipe our track explicitly clean, here!«, she ordered Omar and continued her way with wide strides. Nedime was proud of herself. She had recognized the deadly trick of this path and proven herself, that she had not lost the knowledge of her childhood.
In the meanwhile the pursuers had come ever more closer, but without a Saltstrider, they could not possibly keep that speed up. Nedime led her companions in an wide arch around a more than twenty steps large quicksand zone to take up their intended way again. The wind had taken up a little and drove now thick veils about their feet. Their tracks may be undone now completely and Nedime thanked Rastullah for it, but made it also harder to see the next field of quicksand.
A wild shout sounded up behind them. The riders had reached the spot, where they dismounted themselves only minutes ago. They were Yellow Hearts. Nedime even believed to see in their leader the unshaven warrior who had the commando last night at the city-gate.
»Come back ... vain ... the Magnificent ... merciful death ...«
The wind carried off the words of the warrior. He waved with both arms. Then he gave his men a sign to dismount from their horses. They were armed with bows.
»What shall we do?« Mawdliyah was deathly pale. »Did you understand what they called?«
»As long as these bandits are standing over there, we are safe.« Fenthal stroked over his axe by his words. »If they decide to come closer, then that will be no problem either.«
Nedime bit on her lip to prevent her laughing out loud. The Rohir definitely did not suffer of false modesty. Twelve soldiers had followed them and a single man would have needed a magical sword to get rid of them.
Again did their leader call something to them, but this time nothing could be understood. Then the soldiers raised their bows on his sign and shot. Nedime closed her eyes and mumbled quietly Rastullah's name. Then she heard the Rohir laugh. »These would-be archers. Botched camel-thieves!« All arrows had hit the ground more then twenty steps in front of them.
Once more, the soldiers prepared their bows. This time they held their weapons aimed skywards.
Like a swarm of angry little birds the projectiles rose steep into heaven. Then they shifted forward and flew in an wide arch towards them and hit the ground a bit closer.
»Dough armed fools! Learn to shoot first before you seek trouble with Fenthal, son of Ognis, you tailless scorpions!«
»Let us go!« Nedime was sure that the Yellow Hearts posed no further threat to them. Without a Saltstrider they would not dare to follow them. They had made it! At least for now.
With wild gestures did the leader speak to his soldiers. He did not want to cease the pursue yet, obviously.
»Come on! Before it gets dark, we must reach solid ground. Although the earth seems safe here, it is not to be adviced to camp on a quicksand field.«
But the others did not want to listen to Nedime. They still stared over to the riders.
»They will not give up«, Omar mumbled half loud. »It is a question of honor. Their leader cannot dare to return to the city. Even if he would survive the wrath of Abu Feisal, his kin would toss him away.«
»... Cowards? ... a pair of women ... slaves ...« The captain had mounted up again and drew his saber. While his horse was prancing uneasy on the spot, he seemed to give his men a speech about honor. Suddenly, he tore the horse around and drove it with wild hits on. One moment long did the riders hesitate and looked after their leader. Then one of them loosened himself from the group and then another to follow. In the end did also the others drive on their horses and rode against them with the impending edges of their sabers.
»By Béma's bow, now you can prepare for a hot dance.«
»Give me a weapon, Fenthal! We must defend the women and I do not want to die like a slave.«
The Rohir threw Omar a grumpy look. Then he drew the sword from his belt and offered it to him. »You will be able to handle yourself with that, will you?«
Instead of answering, Omar grasped after the weapon.
Mawdliyah had pressed her hands against her hips and awaited, without blinking with the eye, the attack of the riders.
She has it easy. The Yellow Hearts will not harm her, Nedime thought. Uneasy she looked around but on the almost even sand there was no place for hiding. Now she could only hope that she had not been mistaken about the consistency of the quicksand.
Suddenly did the horse of the leader topple and fall and buried the rider beneath it.
»Rastullah, be thanked!« Nedime went down on her knees and raised her hands to the sky. Her plan had worked.
The other riders tore at the reigns to stop their horses in the full gallop. But for two others it was too late. Desperately falling, the animals neighed.
The Yellow Hearts had been riding straight into the deadly trap. The leader had somehow managed to crawl out from beneath his horse. He had sunken already to the hip in the sand. His companions had retreated several steps back.
»Help me!« His face was distorted of surprise and fear. »Please!«
»What shall we do?« Fenthal had returned his axe to his belt and looked questioning into Nedime's face.
»Nothing.« The voice of the handmaiden quivered slightly. »We cannot do anything for him. If you have sunken to the knee, no one can help you. He can only pray that Rastullah is merciful on him. If he fell into a bad spot, then he will sink slower once the sand reaches his chest.«
»But we cannot just stand here and look how these poor souls snuff it.«
»You say it, Fenthal. We should go.« Nedime was shocked about her own words. Was it the dislike for the heathen that let her become so cold?
»She is right.« Omar had stepped next to the Rohir. »They had known exactly into what danger they entered as they followed us. If the leader would not be a coward dog, he would not have called for aid. As warrior of the tribe of the Beni Kibhera he has lived his entire life around the Uchinebi. He knows that there is no rescue for him. He probably hoped to lure others too into death with his cries.«
»Come, now!« Nedime grasped for the reigns of her horse and looked to the sky. The sun stood high already. There were at best three hours left until midday. Till then they must have left the quicksand region and found a safe spot to rest, for in the heat of the midday it would be impossible to take another step.
Fenthal cursed quietly about. If they would just be again in a quicksand region at least. This accursed scarred, little slave had led them straight into hell. Afraid he looked around. Three days they were already on this grim lake and still there was no end to be seen. Nedime said ever again that she would lead them into the Manekh-Chinebi, a mountain range somewhere to the west of the salt-lake, but so far there was nothing to be seen of mountains at all.
Two horses they had lost already on this damn lake and one time did even the salt crust break. The heat had tricked him. He had seen a waterhole only a few steps away from the way and had gone astray.
A few steps too many.
Fenthal had by now given up to pay any attention to the hoax playing water holes that he believed always to see next to the path. One lecture was enough for him. He did not move off Nedime's trail.
He would just not mind any hallucinations anymore.
Also the salt-eruptions that were to be seen once in a while, did not startle him anymore. Although they reminded of water fountains that big whales issued. Sometimes he thought about the possibility that beneath the surface might be lurking monsters, big as whales. Maybe in truth, there were no geysers. The Northman shuddered. He knew that these lands were once the home of terrible creatures.
Not too long ago there had been the rumor under the sultanate of Abu Tarmedi Ruametef al-Leram that a strange creature was haunting the immediate near.
Fenthal hated rumors! He was not afraid of something tangible. After all he was one of the Rohirrim and the horse lords were afraid of nothing. There were maybe things that conjured up uncomfortable feelings. But fear - no, they did not know fear.
This uncomfortable feeling was plaguing him however more and more with every passing hour that they were on the saltlake. They were on the area with the strange salt cliffs. Peculiar, from the wind formed, blocks that looked on a distant like actual living beings at times stood all about. When the short hours of the morning had gone by, then it became so hot on the lake, that the air seemed to turn into liquid glass. This sight made often the impression that things that in truth were standing steadfast on their spot, did in fact move.
One day long had Fenthal thought, whether or not he should ignore also these strange appearances entirely. But by now he knew that no one could afford that who crossed the saltlake. Something was lurking on the lake and Fenthal knew that if his attention would be lowered, it would strike.
The Rohir stopped and looked around again. He walked now at the end of the group. Nedime was granting her attention obviously completely the path that lay before them. But it was just as important to observe what lay behind them.
Tired he wiped over his forehead and regarded the fine, white salt dust on his fingers. The faces of the others were white of the salt and he knew that he was not looking any better. Over the lake blew always a slight breeze, that carried tiny salt crystals with him. This fine dust was was sticking to anything. It was like glued to the skin and made it dry and chapped. It was set into the clothes and chafed their skin. But the most uncomfortable was to have the dust in nose and mouth.
This little slave had been right after all. His tongue felt like a dried date.
He was longing for ale! An entire keg he could have drunk. Fenthal thought of mugs on which edges the white foam fluffed. What would he not give for a single mug of ale. Even the stale water in the skin appeared to him like a deliciousness, although under normal circumstances he would not have even given that kind of brew to a mangy hinny. But here, everything was different. Except for the hidden dangers of the salt lake, he thought the entire day only of drinking. Already on the first day, Nedime had strictly rationed the water. Everyone of them got one skin per day, for each horse there were two skins.
At first did Fenthal believe that this was quite generous. After all was he not to the first time around in the desert and he had learned to abide thirst. But it had been a mistake to compare the Uchinebi with the desert.
The heat alone he would have easily shrugged off. It was this accursed salt dust that he got into his mouth with every breath that he took and that made it so terrible to cross this lake. Already on the first day had his mouth been so dry that he could not dampen his lips with his tongue.Long before it had gotten dark, he had emptied his water skin.
Angrily did Fenthal form his hands to fists. He had embarrassed himself terribly. At the end of the day he had seen all kinds of strange hallucinations. As if drunk he had staggered behind his horse and in the end, had fallen down on his entire length. The others had stopped. Nedime had gone to him and had given him to drink from her skin. Since the moment in that evening that he had seen her water skin, he was convinced that the scarred slave was a witch. Although she had even an a bit smaller skin than he did, hers was still filled to the half!
That was sorcery! Something like that could not be going on rightly. That also had nothing to do anymore with that he was a Rohir and could not handle the heat as well as the people of the desert. After all he had seen how empty and ragged the water skins of Omar and Mawdliyah had been. Although they were born in the land of the First Sun, they needed not less water than him. Angrily, Fenthal stomped with his foot. He would show this witch. His will was at least just as strong as her sorcery.
He needed a guideline, a telling of the passing of time on which he could hold himself. So he had followed the sun at the second day. But also that had been in vain for the tormenting thirst was making him believe - as soon as he had hung his skin back unto the saddle - as if an eternity had gone that he had been drinking the last time. Yes, he even fell for the impression that the glowing sun would have come to stop at the sky and the flow of time would have halted.
As they rested then during the midday heat, Omar had told him how he was rationing his water. The young man counted each of his steps. Every time that he had made ninety-nine steps, he made a knot into a leather strap that hung from his belt. As soon as he had nine knots on the strap, he allowed himself a mouth full of water. Then he loosened all the knots again and began a new. First this system had been quite eerie to Fenthal. He estimated that some sort of magic hung together with the number nine. He knew that the people of the desert viewed the nine as a holy symbol and that alone made the system suspicious. Maybe there was a sort of rite tied to it? After all were all men of the desert a strange and dark folk that could not be trusted in questions to gods. They even went so far to say that those gods that he prayed to where only temporarily keepers and that there was only one true Allfather. But the Rohir knew like every child that Béma and thirteen other gods were true. Finally Fenthal had decided to copy Omar's system of step-counting. Only did he not count to ninety-nine but till hundred and he allowed himself not by the ninth knot but by the tenth a mouth full of water. So he could be sure that he did not honor the desert god Rastullah in any way.
Again stopped Fenthal and sought on the horizon for pursuers. But except for the deformed salt cliffs there was nothing to be seen or ...
He hesitated. In the west, the horizon had changed a bit. The blue of the sky shone over the stripe of shimmering air, and seemed to be over the salt desert to be a bit darker. The Rohir raised his left to ward his eyes from the glistening rays of the sun. But now he was certain. There were mountains! Nedime had not missed the way after all! Suddenly he had the feeling that all power returned to him, that the desert sun had burned from his body. Yes, he felt like a drowning man who had finally found the saving shore.
»Look over there! Land, land in sight!«
The others stopped, turned around and looked at him perplexed.
»Do you not see it? Land ...« Fenthal laughed loudly. »I mean mountains, of course. We finally made it!«
Nedime shook her head. »You still have not grasped the being of the Uchinebi. We are not on the sea or on some plains here! Even if our destination would be only a mile away, that would still mean nothing.«
»Why?« Fenthal went to tower before her. He had terrible thirst, his feet hurt and he was in no mood for the annoyances of this little witch.
»Why?« The slave made a wide gesture and turned half towards the others. »Because we do not know if there are quicksand spots on our way or geysers that will burn us with their hot slag if we get too close. Maybe wide land awaits us on which the salt crust is too thin to carry us. Or we meet a broad gap in the ground and we have to walk many miles to find a safe passage. It could even be that we need to go back quite a while to find another path to the mountains. Shall I name more reasons why it is meaningless that we can see the Manekh-Chinebi before us?«
»Leave him alone, Nedime!«, Mawdliyah said. »Fenthal is a foreigner in the land of the First Sun. How should he know the tricks of the Uchinebi such as you, who has spend most of her childhood here. Nieyacha, who teaches mercy on the second day would not see it well if you are meeting a foreigner like so. Even if he is just a heathen.«
»Leave me alone with Nieyacha!« Nedime made a dismissive gesture. Wannah, who teaches us on the third day and guards us, who goes new ways is our patron. To her I pray whenever I honor the One, for she alone may show us the right way to the mountains.«
»Not Nieyacha and Wannah, but ...« Now also Omar had entered the discussion of the two women. While they spoke loudly with one another of who of the keepers would grant them aid the most likely, they continued their way to the south.
Fenthal remained a bit back. He had no desire to hear any of the strange god and his servants that these people worshipped and he wondered how they could muster so much power still and waste it to talk over beings, that did not exist, like every normal thinking man knew.
