Sandstorm (33 page)

Grunting, surprised, Sahayl struggled to find a balance, but could do no more than brace himself on one elbow, his other arm steadying Isra. "Desert rose? What—"

His words were cut off by a fierce kiss, Isra kissing him desperately, anxiously, and Sahayl could no more resist than he could refuse to breathe. He would never be able to resist Isra…even if around them the camp had gone glaringly silent. "Desert rose?" he asked when Isra finally let him go, though there was barely a breath of space between them.

Isra did not pull away, instead murmuring soft words against his mouth. "Wasp is a traitor."

Sahayl froze at the words, fear and rage pouring through him. The Wasp Amir stood not five feet away. He’d left the Wasp Sheik at the Broken Palace. "Are you certain, desert rose?"

"Without a doubt," Isra replied, then kissed him again.

"Surely you were not that troubled by your parting, Falcon," Wafai said dryly.

Isra broke the kiss and glared. "Shut up." He pulled back and regained his feet, then helped Sahayl up.

"Wafai, walk with us. Wasp Amir, if you need to see me it will have to wait a moment, I beg your forgiveness." He didn’t wait for the man’s reply, merely turned and strode to his tent, one of the few which had not yet been taken down, awaiting his command. A hand settled at the small of his back, and Sahayl recognized it for a protective gesture. Looking up at Bahadur, he could see the man knew something was wrong.

The new concern thankfully allowed him to ignore the way the camp continued to stare, and burst into chatter once he’d passed, and he wondered how quickly it would spread across the Desert that a Falcon had raced into camp and thrown himself at the Sandstorm Prince to kiss him as though half-mad.

It was a relief to enter his tent – but he stopped short at the sight of two people already in it, only remembering then that he’d ordered the prisoners brought here. He looked at them, curiosity consuming him over why anyone would permit a woman anywhere near a battlefield.

The two were obviously related, their curly, bright gold hair the same, eyes a deep blue, skin tanned to a dark gold from the sun. The woman looked strange in a man’s clothes, but otherwise was pretty for a heathen, though he did not know the standards for that. Witcher was handsome, and he thought Shihab quite fine indeed… Both looked at him warily as Sahayl drew close. "You are both well?" Sahayl asked. He needed to deal with the problem of Wasp, but he could not simply ignore them…

"As well as prisoners can be," the man said in a sour tone.

Sahayl frowned.

"Rook!" The woman snapped. "They could have simply killed us. Watch your tongue."

The man – Rook, Sahayl supposed, heathens had such strange names – grimaced but obediently fell silent.

"I would like to speak with you," Sahayl continued, "but I must deal with other matters first."

"Viper," the woman said suddenly. "Jackal. Wasp. Lizard. They’re all cooperating with the west." Her eyes were wide, anxious, as she looked at Sahayl. "Please. I came—"

"That’s enough," Rook snarled. "You said you’d go home!"

"Not now that I’m where I need to be," the woman snapped back.

Sahayl blinked, watching them fight, feeling rather as though he were in the middle of something dangerous. He looked to the others, who remained by the entrance and simply shook their heads.

Resisting an urge to call them cowards, Sahayl took a deep breath and cut into the bickering.

"Setcha!" he said loudly, sharply, startling them both into silence. "Saa, heathens, you fight worse the Tribes. You appear to know much about what is going on in the Sands. Who are you, to know so much? Are you certain those Tribes are the traitors?" He already knew they all were, but they need not know that.

"Yes, I’m certain," the woman said, eyes flashing. "Do you honesty think I’d lie in a situation like this?"

Sahayl swore he could feel Wafai and Isra lose their tempers behind him.

"You will be more polite to our Sandstorm Prince," Wafai snapped.

"Heathens should learn to watch their tongues," Isra said just as heatedly beside him.

"Sandstorm Prince?" the woman repeated, eyes growing even wider as she stared at Sahayl.

"So the rumor I heard a few days ago is true – the Great Desert has joined Tavamara." She dropped her gaze, worrying her lip with her teeth, sliding a gaze to the man sitting across from her at Sahayl’s table. "Rook—"

Rook groaned. "You are going home before your father kills us – though I think it’s probably too late for that."

"But an alliance—"

"Is impossible," Rook cut in. "You are going home and that’s the end of the matter."

Sahayl sighed, wishing that Shihab were with them. He would probably understand all that was being said – at least the heathens were speaking the desert language. Which was curious. "How do you speak our language so well?"

"Lots and lots of evil tutoring," Rook said.

"Who are you?" Wafai asked sharply. He looked at the woman. "You must be of some importance, the way the two of you act."

The woman hesitated, but when Rook gave a sharp shake of his head, an obvious negative, she pursed her lips stubbornly and met Sahayl’s gaze. "My name—"

"She is Princess Cordelia Melrose LeRoi, third daughter of his Imperial Majesty King Denzel LeRoi of Gollen."

Sahayl drew a sharp breath. He knew very little about heathens, but he knew that having a royal heathen in his tent was a bad thing. "What manner of heathens permit their Princess to come to such a dangerous place? Alone?"

"She was not supposed to be here!" Rook snarled, glaring angrily at Cordelia. "I discovered only a few days after we arrived in the Great Desert. I have been trying to get her home, but doing that without revealing her identity – too dangerous – was nearly impossible. I had finally convinced her and was escorting her back when we were tangled up in the attack made against your soldiers."

"I want the fighting to stop," Cordelia said. "I came to see if I could not work out negotiations on my own – but I could find no one in the Sands who would listen to me."

Isra snorted. "Of course you didn’t. Idiot heathens! Why would any true son of the Desert waste his time talking to those who are trying to take our Desert away? Lady bury you all in the Sands!"

"Isra," Sahayl said gently.

Grumbling, Isra nevertheless subsided. Sahayl turned back to his…guests, he supposed. He could hardly consider them proper prisoners. Well, proper introductions should be the first thing…

Wafai, as ever, seemed to know his thoughts, and with a grunt of reluctance moved forward and made the proper introductions. "I present to you Prince Sahayl, son of Hashim, son of Ghost, son of Tavamara and the Lady of the Sands." He listed the names of the others present, and looked pointedly at Rook as he finished.

Rook nodded. "I am Ryder Sefton LeRoi. I am her Highness’s cousin and a tactician in his Majesty’s Imperial Army."

Sahayl nodded. He turned to the princess. "What were you hoping to accomplish, Princess?"

"Peace," Cordelia replied promptly. "Gollen, Lavarre, and Hadge have all joined forces to take over the Great Desert – but already they are bickering amongst themselves over who should get what sections and what is to be done about Tavamara once the Sands are conquered." She made a face. "At least when I left, such was the case. I have seen little evidence that things have improved."

"Brave, Princess, to venture into the Sands alone. Also incredibly stupid," Sahayl said. "Did you bring no one with you, at the very least? What manner of heathens would be foolish enough not to notice your absence in time to prevent such reckless behavior."

Annoyance filled Cordelia’s face, but before she could speak Rook burst out laughing.

"Prevent Princess Cordelia from doing as she pleases? Her father has been trying to manage that trick since her birth!" He seemed not to notice the scathing look he was being given.

Cordelia sniffed and turned to face Sahayl, expression turning serious. "I felt there was no choice. Gollen holds the weakest position of the three countries. I wanted to extricate my country before Hadge and Lavarre crushed it, which I know full well they can and will do – my father knows it too…" She shrugged. "No one back home would listen to me, so I thought I would see if anyone out here in the Sands might. I was hopeful when I heard the Desert had joined with Tavamara, who has always been far more inclined toward peace."

Sahayl nodded. "Yes, Princess. Peace is my ultimate aim, but I fail to see how it is to be achieved when the heathens seem intent upon conquering the Sands and Tavamara."

"Highness," Wafai cut in, "with all due respect, we do not have time for such discussions."

Reluctantly Sahayl nodded. "Yes, of course. We are returning home, see that the orders are dispersed and set men you trust to watch the Wasp Amir. I am riding ahead."

"That’s too dangerous," Wafai and Isra chorused, then glared nastily at each other.

Bahadur finally spoke, having until then remained silent and watchful. "I have to agree, Highness. You should not be traveling alone through the Sands."

"Nonsense," Sahayl replied. "Who would expect me to travel so? Besides, I will have you and Isra with me. We will make better time and I can hopefully reach the Broken Palace before the Wasp Sheik does any harm."

"He was to do nothing until he received word from the Amir that you had been dealt with,"

Cordelia said quietly.

Sahayl looked at her. "Oh?"

"Naturally," Rook said contemptuously. "Their plan is a sound one – destroy the Sandstorm sweeping the Desert and the sand once more becomes nothing but shifting dunes. Of course, that is an alteration from the original plan – which was to let the Tribes finally kill each other. No one expected a Sandstorm to rise up."

Wafai smirked. "Our Sandstorm Prince is favored by the Lady of the Sands and precisely what the Desert needs."

Sahayl swept the words aside with a motion, embarrassed. "Saa, I am reckless. We should be on our way. I will travel ahead with Isra and Bahadur. Wafai, see the Princess and…are you her protector?"

"Of late? Yes," Rook groused. "I am a tactician for his Imperial Majesty. Most often I am called upon in naval matters. My presence here was…not part of the original plan. My specialty is oceanic matters; I deal with the barbarians who plague our waters. I was recalled from duty when a tactician for this matter fell ill."

"He is Prince Rook," Cordelia said with a soft laugh.

Isra frowned. "Yet the name he gave was not Rook, before. Sands, heathens make no sense."

Sahayl laughed. "Enough. We must go. Lady guard you in your travels."

"And you, Sandstorm Prince," Wafai said.

Nodding, Sahayl stood and departed, mounting his horse which had been brought to his tent along with those of Bahadur and Isra, who were right behind him. "Ketcha," he cried out, urging Bloodmoon forward, racing out of camp to vanish into the sands.

*~*~*~*

"I miss all the fun," Shihab complained as they finished telling him of all that had transpired.

Isra rolled his eyes.

"Saa, shadowfire, only you would be disappointed," Sahayl said, lips quirking.

"I’m not, really," Shihab said with a sigh. "What a disappointment. Wasp would have been a strong ally." He rubbed his chin in thought. "This Princess, though…did she have gold hair?

Deep blue eyes? Rather outspoken?"

Sahayl lifted a brow. "Yes, shadowfire."

"Probably is the Princess Cordelia then," Shihab replied, shaking his head in wonder.

"Amazing. She really is as reckless as they say. Prince Rook was with her as well?"

"Yes…" Bahadur answered, frowning. "What do you know that we do not, little shadowfire?"

Shihab smirked and instead of replying simply poured them more wine. They sat in a room that had been allotted as a private sitting room for the Prince, much effort having already gone in to repairing the damage done by the desert. The faded blue tiling on the floor had been scrubbed clean, soft rugs thrown down to hide the spots where tiles were missing. The table in the center was made of stone, low to the ground in the usual style, carved around the edge with calligraphy telling a folktale of the Sands.

The work was heartening, or so Sahayl thought. It seemed to indicate the Tribes wanted to be here, wanted this to work. "Give up your secrets, shadowfire," he said with a smile.

"Aw, I was waiting to see if Isra would hit me," Shihab replied with a grin.

"I’ll hit you anyway, never fear."

Snickering, Shihab took a sip of his wine and then finally relented. "Prince Rook is a direct cousin of the royal throne, the only son of the King’s youngest brother…but his brother is sickly, always has been, and his marriage was purely political. There are many who believe Prince Rook is actually the King’s son, but no one can prove it."

Isra frowned. "Heathens. Why is he called Rook? That is not the name he gave when he gave an introduction."

"A ‘rook’ is a playing piece from a game called chess – somewhat similar to taaki, in that it is a game of strategy. Prince Rook is called thus because when he was only fifteen he bested the best chess player in the kingdom – with a rook." Shihab frowned. "Strange that a man so favored by the King would choose to side against him, as Prince Rook obviously has…then again, this is Princess Cordelia we’re talking about…"

Sahayl sighed. "Shadowfire, you are not making much sense to me."

"Sorry," Shihab said. "My thoughts are racing faster than I can speak them. Princess Cordelia has always been the troublemaker in her family – she is not obedient and compliant as a woman should be, her bodyguard – protector – is a barbarian woman. Intriguing that you did not encounter her." He gave Sahayl a sly look.

"I do not like that expression, shadowfire," Sahayl said.

Isra snorted. "As you shouldn’t. I know exactly where this is going."

"Where is that?" Bahadur asked.

"Princess Cordelia is seeking peace, and indeed a peace with the Desert and Tavamara would be a very good thing for Gollen. So much a good thing the King should be grateful his daughter put herself in this situation." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I wouldn’t be surprised if she or Prince Rook has already thought of it."