Leaning over to study the burnished stones, Lander asked, "Was there a lake here once?"

Ruha laughed. "Don't be foolish. This is At'ar's Looking Glass," she said, glancing toward the sun. "Kozah hopes to win his wife's heart back by keeping it swept clean with his wind so that she can admire her reflection in the pebbles."

Lander looked at the heavens above. Though the sun was white and the earth red, he could see why the Bedine associated the fiery ground with their cruel sun goddess. "Yes, I see it now," he said, sitting upright again.

Ruha chuckled at his ignorance as they moved onward. They rode across At'ar's Looking Glass for the rest of the afternoon, and Lander was soon convinced that burnished sea of stones continued forever. At first, it had seemed eerily beautiful. Now it seemed infuriatingly uniform.

Two hours before dusk, the entire tribe turned ninety degrees north. Lander searched the horizon for some landmark he had missed, but there was nothing but the fiery rock flats. Shadowed closely by Ruha, he urged his camel forward until he rode abreast of Sa'ar.

The sheikh still appeared to be asleep, but when the Harper approached Sa'ar opened one eye. He glanced first at Lander, then at Ruha, and raised an eyebrow at the pair's close proximity. "Yes? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Why are we turning?" Lander asked. "Are we close to the Well of the Chasm?"

Sa'ar shook his head. "No. We are turning so we are not in the Zhentarim's path when they overtake us tonight."

"What?" Lander nearly shrieked the question. He could not help thinking of how hard he had been trying to get ahead of them for the last few weeks.

The sheikh shrugged. "We cannot move as fast as the invaders. The asabis, at least, could overtake us tonight. Our only choice is to be out of the way when they pass."

"What about your allies at the Well of the Chasm?" Lander asked.

Sa'ar smiled. "Don't worry about them. The Zhentarim will not arrive before the messenger I sent ahead," the sheikh replied. "The Raz'hadi will stall the invaders until we arrive."

"You'll still be outnumbered. What will you do then?"

Sa'ar only shrugged. "I can't speak for Utaiba and his people," he said. "We'll see what happens when we get there."

"Sheikh Sa'ar is correct, Lander," Ruha said. "The Bedine do not plan everything out in advance."

The sheikh nodded, then pointed at Ruha. "You would do well to listen to this woman, my friend." A moment later, he scowled thoughtfully, then eyed Ruha and added, "But from a discreet distance."

Ruha's eyes went wide, then she allowed her camel to fall behind. Confused by the exchange, Lander also allowed his mount to fall behind and brought it alongside the widow's. When he came too close, she tactfully guided her camel away and opened the space between them.

"What was that all about?" the Harper asked, once again guiding his mount close to hers.

Ruha carefully moved her mount away. "Sa'ar thinks I've been brazen," she replied.

"That's ridiculous!"

The widow's eyes sparkled with agreement, but she shook her head. "Not really. In his eyes, I'm still part of my husband's family. Please don't ride any closer."

Sa'ar's admonition irritated the Harper, for he saw nothing wrong with talking to a widow and did not think it was anyone's business to tell a woman how close she could ride to a man. For the next hour, he tried to draw Ruha back into conversation, but she avoided his questions. The Harper felt hurt by the sudden distance between Ruha and himself, and he could not help silently cursing Sheikh Sa'ar for upsetting his friend.

When less than an hour of light remained in the day, Sa'ar called a halt to the caravan. Immediately the women began to unpack supplies and arrange them on the flat, rocky ground in tentless semblances of their normal camp.

Lander attempted to help Ruha unpack the supplies for herself, him, and Kadumi, but she curtly instructed him to go and sit with the sheikh. More confused than ever, the Harper went over to the area of ground that Sa'ar's first wife had staked out as his tent, then sat on a kuerabiche and sipped the cold tea that a servant provided. Fortunately, the sheikh was occupied with the details of posting sentries and arranging the camp, so Lander felt no obligation to make small talk.

When Ruha had laid out the camp, he returned to the area that would serve as the trio's khreima. Someone had provided her with a hare for the cooking pot. As she skinned the hare, the widow did not acknowledge Lander's presence. That only made him want to talk with her that much more.

If he was going to succeed, Lander knew he would have to say something to overshadow the warning that had passed between Ruha and the sheikh. Remembering her inquiry about Sembia, the Harper decided to lure her into a discussion about his home.

"In Sembia, the rabbits are as juicy as sheep," he began, eyeing the stringy hare she was skinning.

His tactic worked immediately. "What are sheep?" Ruha asked, nervously glancing in the direction of the sheikh's family.

The question caught him by surprise, for he had never before had to describe one of the beasts. He held his hand two and a half feet off the ground. "They're about this tall, they come in herds, and they're covered with wool-"

"Like tiny camels?"

Lander shook his head. "Not even close. Their fleece is soft and white."

"How much milk do they give?"

"They don't give milk," Lander corrected. "At least not that Sembians drink."

"Then what good are these sheep?" Ruha demanded.

Lander laughed at her desert pragmatism. "They give wool. We make clothes from it."

"That's all?" The widow pulled the hide off the rabbit and threw it to a saluki lurking on the edge of their camp.

"They can be eaten, too," he said. "My father and I used to eat mutton-sheep-every year when we went to Archendale."

"Archendale? Tell me about that," the widow demanded.

"It's a beautiful place," Lander said, closing his eyes. "The River Arkhen flows through a rocky gorge. The whole valley is filled with lilies and moss."

"It sounds wonderful."

Ruha's eyes were fixed on the Harper's face, and he could tell from their dreamy expression that she was trying to imagine the paradise he described.

"Archendale is a wonderful place," Lander confirmed.

"But it was almost destroyed. The Zhentarim tried to take it over, too."

"How did you stop them?" Ruha asked.

"It wasn't me. My father did it," Lander replied, growing melancholy at this turn of the conversation.

"Was he a Harper, too?"

Lander shook his head. "No, he was a merchant, but he was a good man."

Ruha's eyes remained fixed on Lander's face, and he realized she expected him to continue the story.

"Archendale's farms were the best within riding distance of Sembia," Lander began. "Every summer, my father and I would go there together to buy produce. One year, my mother wanted to come along."

"Why should that bother you?" Ruha asked, studying him carefully.

Lander looked away, uneasy that the widow had read his feelings so easily. "My father married a beautiful, charming woman," the Harper said. "What he didn't know was that my mother was also a deceitful Cyric-worshiper. She had intentionally married a wealthy merchant in order to gather commercial information for the Zhentarim-information they used to fill their own pockets with gold at the expense of honest men like my father."

Lander paused, a lump of anger growing in his breast as he recalled how his mother had used him to dupe his father. When he turned ten, she had started taking him to the house of a famous mercenary three times a week, presumably for lessons in swordsmanship. What neither the Harper nor his father had realized, however, was that while Lander was learning to fight, his mother was meeting with her Zhentarim masters in the back of the house.