As the rider reined his camel to a halt, the sheikh asked, "What happened?"

The warrior smiled. "With Kozah's wind, we drove the Zhentarim before us like gazelles before the lion," he said. "They have fled into the desert."

Sa'ar shouted for joy. "I shall ride the Zhentarim into the sands of death."

After sending the warrior galloping back with orders to assemble the elders, Sa'ar slowly started forward. Lander followed, but Ruha remained standing next to her camel.

The sheikh twisted about in his saddle and called, "You wanted to see the battle. Aren't you coming?"

When Ruha showed no sign of responding, Lander quickly covered for her. "There may still be Zhentarim hiding in the dust storm. It would be safer for her to wait here."

Sa'ar shrugged, then turned back toward the invaders' camp. As Lander and the sheikh approached it, Ruha thoughtfully allowed the dust cloud to drift to the other side of the battlefield, and the gale quieted to a gentle wind.

It was wrong to think of the site as a battlefield. Several hundred campfires, flaring and flickering in the breeze, were strewn over two acres of barren, dusty ground. Near each fire lay two or three corpses wrapped in black robes. Sa'ar's warriors were bustling from fire to fire, slitting the throats of those who moved or groaned.

The casualness with which the Bedine dispatched the wounded shocked Lander, who was not accustomed to murdering captives in cold blood. Nevertheless, the Harper realized that taking prisoners was a practical impossibility for the Bedine, and he certainly had no wish to let the evil men go free. Instead, he motioned in the direction of a Zhentarim who was about to be dispatched, then said, "Perhaps you should save one for interrogation. It would also be wise to have someone count the enemy dead."

Sa'ar nodded. "I see you are a practical man. That is good."

The sheikh called a warrior over, then relayed Lander's request. The man returned a few moments later, dragging along a Zhentarim with a bloody leg. The warrior dumped the prisoner at a nearby campfire without ceremony, then trudged off to tally the dead.

Sa'ar went to meet with his elder warriors, and Lander dismounted to interrogate the prisoner. The Zhentarim was chubby and slovenly, with a thick double chin and a face that had not been shaved in a week. His eyes were glazed with terror, and the Harper had little trouble seeing that the prisoner hoped to make a bargain that would save his life.

"You look more like a merchant than a mercenary," Lander began, speaking in Common and taking a seat next to the corpulent man.

"A bit of both," the wounded man grunted. "Yhekal promised me a caravan concession."

"And you believed him?" Lander asked incredulously.

The prisoner shrugged. "Somebody will have to run the caravans. I thought it might as well be me."

A Bedine warrior stopped near their campfire to cut the throats of two unconscious Zhentarim. The prisoner watched the death of his comrades, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He looked to Lander with an unspoken question.

"I'm not going to lie to you," the Harper replied. "The Bedine don't take prisoners. If they don't kill you tonight, you'll die a worse death tomorrow. Perhaps if you help us…"

The fat man's eyes grew angry. "Why should I tell you anything?"

"That's up to you," Lander shrugged. The best way to make a prisoner talk, he knew, was to make him think you did not need the information he was giving you. "I already know you number about fifteen hundred, you're all hungry, you have fifteen hundred asabis-"

"Asabis?" the prisoner asked, grimacing at a wave of pain from his injured leg.

Lander pointed toward the canyon mouth. "The reptile mercenaries clearing the canyon."

The merchant nodded. "They call themselves 'laertis.' "

"Gruesome creatures," Lander commented. "I thought they only lived in the middle of the desert."

The Zhentarim moaned, then held his leg with his hands. "The laertis have tunnels everywhere. We picked those up a hundred miles outside Addas Babar. They crawled out of a deep well."

Lander nodded, noting the similarity between the prisoner's report and what Sa'ar had told him.

The prisoner licked his lips. "Do you have any water?"

"Of course," Lander answered. He went to his camel and returned with a waterskin, then offered it to the portly man. "I don't blame you for not wanting to die thirsty."

The prisoner nodded his thanks, then opened the waterskin and began pouring the contents down his throat. The fat man drank so greedily that water spilled out of his mouth and ran down his grimy cheeks in waves.

Lander grimaced at the thought of wasting so much precious liquid on a dead man, then felt ashamed for being so hard-hearted.

When the man lowered the waterskin from his lips, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and said, "I shall die a happy man. What do you want to know?"

Twenty minutes later, the Harper knew everything that the prisoner did about Yhekal's plan. Lander had correctly guessed the Zhentarim's intent to enslave the Bedine and even the size of their army. He also confirmed that the invaders were traveling at night because of their mercenaries.

The Harper learned two new things, as well. First, the asabis had to spend the day burrowed underground, either a few feet beneath the sand, in a cave, or sometimes huddled in a rock crevice. Second, when the Mahwa attacked, Yhekal had been in the camp and presumably fled with the rest of the Zhentarim. Unfortunately, he had sent a wizard, along with fifty human officers, into the canyon to lead the reptiles in the attack on the Raz'hadi.

After the prisoner had drunk the last of Lander's water, his wounded leg sent a violent shudder of pain through his body and he cried out. The fat man waited for the wave to pass, then turned to Lander. "I've told you all I know of the Zhentarim," he said, handing the empty skin back to the Harper. "If you are going to kill me, do it now. This leg is beginning to throb."

Lander accepted the skin, saying, "I suppose that's fair."

The Harper took the waterskin back to his mount and hung it on the saddle, then drew his dagger and crept up behind the prisoner. Lander tried to move as quietly as possible, but he saw the Zhentarim flinch. The doomed man had sensed his presence. Nevertheless, the fat man continued to stare into the desert night.

Lander killed the Zhentarim merchant as quickly and painlessly as he could, plunging the straight blade of his dagger into the man's heart from behind. Afterward he kneeled beside the body until the desert night began to chill him.

At last, the Harper cleaned his dagger on the dead prisoner's robe, scoured the blood off his aba with a handful of sandy earth, then took his jellaba off his camel and put it on. When he felt ready to join Sa'ar, Lander urged his camel to its feet and led it to the campfire where the sheikh and his elder warriors had gathered.

As the Harper approached, Sa'ar turned with a broad smile. Lander saw that Kadumi stood in the middle of the sheikh's entourage.

"Kadumi killed three men!" the sheikh announced.

"Good for him," Lander replied, forcing a smile. "Let us hope he lives to kill many more."

"My warriors counted just over five hundred dead," Sa'ar reported proudly. "We lost only fifteen."

"That means nearly a thousand Zhentarim escaped," Lander said, turning his thoughts to the task at hand. "We'll have to be careful that they don't rally and return unexpectedly."

Sa'ar frowned. "Do all your people look only at the bad side, Lander?"

"Five hundred dead is five hundred dead," he said without emotion. "We'll have to kill many more before we chase the Zhentarim from the desert. Now, how are we going to get your allies out of the canyon? There are fifteen hundred asabis and a powerful wizard in that canyon." He pointed at a narrow crack leading to the Well of the Chasm.