Smiling, Zarud inclined his head to the sheikh, then to the elders and the warriors. He spoke some more words that no one understood. The men of the Mtair looked from one to another with querying eyebrows and blank eyes.

Zarud spoke again, this time grasping Ruha's wrist and pointing toward the Bitter Well, where the Zhentarim were camped. He put his hand in front of his mouth and made speaking motions, then did the same for the widow.

"He wants to take her to teach them our language," concluded an elder.

Ruha jerked her wrist free. "Never!"

The Zhentarim grabbed her arm again, nodding and speaking sharply. He pointed to two elders, then to Al'Aif and Nata, and then toward the Bitter Well again.

"Why does he need with so many teachers?" demanded Nata. "This isn't right!"

Kadumi stepped toward Zarud, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his jambiya. He stopped when Al'Aif rose and motioned for him to stop. The scarred Mtair turned toward Ruha's father. "Already the Zhentarim tighten their reins, Sheikh. Is it still your wish to placate them?"

The sheikh locked gazes with Zarud, giving no sign that he had heard Al'Aif's question. Finally, without looking away from the Zhentarim, he said, "It is the only way, Al'Aif. You will all be ready to leave at dawn."

Kadumi stepped forward again. "No," he yelled. "Ruha is the wife of my brother. I cannot allow this!"

Al'Aif intercepted the young warrior. "The sheikh has decided, Kadumi," he said, pushing the boy toward the exit. "Don't worry about Ruha. I'll protect her."

After Al'Aif and the boy had gone, the sheikh looked at Nata and the two elders Zarud had selected, then rested his gaze on his daughter. "I'm sorry that it has to be this way," he said. "We must think of the welfare of the whole khowwan."

"You must think of the tribe," Ruha retorted, turning to leave the tent. "I have not been bound to do so since I was five summers old, when you banished me from the Mtair Dhafir."

When Ruha returned to her tent, Lander was gone. He had taken the waterskin she had left for him, abandoning the feather-less arrow and two empty glass vials in its place. Nothing else was missing, and there was no sign of a struggle, so Ruha assumed the stranger had left of his own will.

The young widow could not understand how he had managed to leave under his own power, though she could certainly understand why he would want to leave. With the Zhentarim in camp, almost any place would be a safer haven than a Mtairi tent.

It is best that the berrani is gone, Ruha decided. It would be difficult enough to sneak out of camp tonight without taking an injured stranger along-or feeling guilty about leaving him behind. The young widow took a kuerabiche and stuffed her possessions into the carpet shoulder bag. There was not much to pack: a ground loom, Ajaman's jambiya, an extra aba, and three veils. She did not pack her heavy cloak, for she would need it later.

Ruha did not even consider becoming a Zhentarim captive on behalf of the Mtair Dhafir. Even if the sheikh rescued the hostages, she would never be welcome in the tribe. Besides, she knew her father well enough to doubt that he would even attempt such a rescue. Sheikh Sabkhat always thought of the welfare of the khowwan first, and trying to save the five prisoners would make the tribe's escape from the Zhentarim that much more difficult.

Still, the elders might force the old sheikh to try such a feat, for the Zhentarim had chosen their hostages well. The two elders were the heads of large families that would certainly never abandon their patriarchs. Al'Aif and Nata, the tribe's two best warriors, would also be sorely missed. Their absence would make the Mtair more reluctant to take up arms, and deprive the tribe of combat leadership if a revolt did occur.

Ruha felt that she was the only badly chosen hostage; the Mtair Dhafir would just as soon be rid of her anyway. The young widow could see why the Zhentarim had made their mistake, however. As the sheikh's daughter, the tribe leaders would normally hesitate to do anything to put her in danger. Ruha suspected there was more to the choice than that, however.

The pale, purple-robed man accompanying Zarud originally had struck her as being the real leader of the pair, and he had also used some sort of magic. From the way he had studied her during their original meeting, it would not surprise Ruha to learn that he had somehow sensed that she was a sorceress. No doubt, being magic-wielders themselves, the Zhentarim had concluded it would be better to have her where they could watch her.

When she finished packing, Ruha sat down to study the spells she had sewn inside her aba. She was certain she would need the wind shadow and sand whisper spells, and she also thought that a sand lion would be useful if she ran into any Zhentarim tonight. She did not know whether to memorize any sun spells, however, for it was difficult to decide what needs the light of day might bring with it.

Ruha was still contemplating her choice when someone cleared his throat noisily outside her khreima. The widow quickly rearranged her aba, then called, "Is there someone at my door?"

"Kadumi," came the response.

Before inviting the youth inside, Ruha thought about unpacking her bag, then decided that she could always claim it had been packed with tomorrow morning in mind. "Come inside, Kadumi."

The boy stepped inside, then sat very close to Ruha's side. "One of Nata's sons sits in the shadows twenty yards from your tent," he whispered.

Ruha nodded. "That does not surprise me. My father knows I have no wish to be a hostage."

"He is wrong to ask you," Kadumi said. "You are of the Qahtan now, not the Mtair Dhafir."

"Yes."

The boy nodded at the kuerabiche. "That is why you are leaving."

Ruha thought to deny it, then she realized that if Kadumi had not come as her friend, he would not have told her about the warrior watching her tent. "The Mtair have no right to ask anything of me."

"If it comes to you escaping this night, I will go with you."

"No. You should stay with my father's tribe." Ruha put a hand on the boy's arm. "We are a long way from your home sands, and it will be hard to find another of the Qahtan's allies for you to join."

Kadumi shrugged. "That doesn't matter. If you go, I must go as well. Yet that may not be necessary. Al'Aif thinks your father will change his mind."

Ruha frowned skeptically. "Al'Aif should know my father better than that."

"He seemed very sure of himself, and he thought you should know."

"Why?"

The boy shook his head. "He didn't say, but he is a man who can be trusted. Just wait until tomorrow. If your father has not changed his mind, then I will get you before you reach the Zhentarim."

The youth returned to his feet, saying, "I should leave before the guard thinks I am taking liberties with my brother's wife."

Beneath her veil, Ruha smiled at the boy's swagger. "We wouldn't want that."

"Until tomorrow, then," he said as he left.

Without unpacking her kuerabiche, Ruha returned to studying her spells. Whatever Al'Aif was doing, she didn't see how it affected her decision. Since her return, the warrior had treated her with a certain amount of respect, but she doubted that he or anyone else had changed their views on having a witch in the tribe.

Ruha continued studying her spells until an uncanny quiet crept over the camp and the night chill wafted into her tent on silent puffs of wind. Judging the time to be prime for sneaking away, Ruha went to the door of her khreima and peered outside. The moon cast a weak silvery light over the camp, but there were plenty of murky shadows to hide in beneath the ghaf trees and behind the tents. The sentry Kadumi had mentioned was nowhere in sight, but Ruha did not doubt that he was wrapped in a dark cloak and lying beneath one of the bushes or trees she watched.