Two hundred tents covered the scrub plains around the shallow lake. The greatest density clustered along the eastern shore although small groups and isolated tents of all shapes and sizes popped up along the shoreline like little bunches of flowers. Their awnings displayed all the colors of the rainbow and thousands of people, horses, camels, and other strange beasts meandered between them as the shouts of street hawkers and the screams of children echoed back and forth. A weather beaten nomad wearing riding gear and walking his horse carefully through the throng looked neither to the left or right but made a direct line towards the center of the tent city. The scarf that partially covered his face hung loosely and his deep brown eyes stared out above a hawk-like nose. As he neared the center of the tents a young boy, not yet in his teens, dashed out and took the reins of his horse from the man and then led the great steed off to the north.
The boy took the horse out past the tent city and towards an open field in the distance where hundreds of the powerful beasts frolicked with one another. Meanwhile the man continued his journey towards the center of the encampment and towards a large black tent that seemed to suck in the colors from those around it. He approached the entrance a few moments later and two tall nomads, both faces pock-marked from the blister disease that took the lives of so many nomads, wearing long scimitars at their sides and unsmiling mouths on their faces greeted him with a nod of their head. They made no move to impede his entrance. He ducked into the tent without a word and made his way to a low table where a tall darkling with purple eyes sat behind a wooden desk on a chair of the same material. He barely glanced up as the weather-beaten nomad entered the room, peeled the mask from his face, and stood before the table.
The darkling took a few more notes with a feather quill, scratching strange symbols on a piece of parchment, set it down, and after a final pause looked up at the nomad, “Report.”
“I am from Manetho’s patrol of the Farrider border. We encountered a group of northmen hiding in a cave. They slew a Farriders patrol and stole their equipment and a horse,” said the nomad in a steady voice as he looked directly into the dancing purple eyes of the man behind the desk.
“Northerners, you say?” said the darkling as he reached over and picked up the quill for long enough to dip it in an inkpot, and then he leaned back in his chair. “In The Sands?” The darkling pursed his lips of a deep brownish red color and was again silent for a second as his eyes moved back and forth. “You were right to come directly to me. What is your name?”
“I am Mejhem the White Fox,” said the man with a slight nod of his head. “Manetho was able to communicate with the northerners although I do not know of what they spoke.”
The darkling propped his elbows on the table and stared off into the distance without saying anything for a long time, although the nomad showed no signs of impatience and merely stood silently waiting. “You will want food, water, a fresh horse?” said the darkling his eyes once again fixed on Mejhem.
“A kind courtesy but unnecessary, Sheikh Ming. It was not a long journey and I am prepared to lead a group of warriors back to the site immediately so that they might be brought to you with all speed,” said the man with a shake of his head. “They do not have horses or even camels and cannot return easily.”
“In that part of the desert with no horses, no camels,” said Ming and his eyes flashed at the nomad for a moment, “Possibly you have been duped?”
“I do not think so,” said the man with another shake of his head. “They were badly burned by the sun, northerners most certainly, unfamiliar with the desert, short on food and water. I do not understand how they found themselves in such a place but I do not think I was fooled. I do not think this a game of the Farriders.”
Ming nodded his head. “Return to them with as many extra horses as you need. Bring them back here as quickly as possible. I will want to speak with them immediately.”
The nomad bowed, “I will do as you command, great Sheikh. I should return in four days unless the desert swallows their spirit.” With this he turned and left the tent.
Ming lowered his head and stared at the parchment on the desk without really seeing it until a squat little man with a large belly waddled out from one of the folds far in the back of the the tent. He wore an emerald green turban with a red, spiral pattern and his voluminous robes were of the same colors. Even with such garish and billowy clothes the layers of fat were visible beneath them and seemed to jiggle with his every move. His face, with three chins and cheeks like a pudgy baby, was round and somewhat red but he did not wear the smile of a jolly clown. “Black Rider,” he said as he approached the table.
Ming said nothing.
“This is most important news, grave news even. Northerners in The Sands? They must be interrogated as quickly as possible.”
“I ordered them brought here, Tahnoon” said the Black Rider. “What else would you have me do?”
“Ming,” said the man and held up his fat hands, palms forward. “Are you still angry that I ate all of the almonds? You merely had to tell me they were your special order and I would not have liberated them from the trader.”
The Black Rider put down his quill and tried to give the fat man a stern look but the inkling of a smile crept into the corner of his lips and he finally shook his head, “What is it that makes it impossible to stay angry at a fat, jolly man?”
“Our generous nature?” suggested Tahnoon with a smile as he hands came to his belly and gave it a little rub.
“No, certainly not that,” said Ming with a shake of his head. “Seeing as that particular quality is not in evidence, nor has it ever been to my knowledge.”
“My friendly face, perhaps?” offered the fat man as a second suggestion.
Ming shook his head and chuckled again, “That must be it. Now, you’ve come here to discuss Corancil and the northern armies again I suppose?”
“Our spies send ominous messages,” said Tahnoon as he sat down with a thump on a large cushion near the table. “How do you accustom your backside to those wooden torture devices? You darklings have strange customs indeed.”
“The northern armies of Corancil are gathered around Das’von which is more than eight thousand miles as the dragon flies and much further than that for marching. He is a danger, I admit, but not at present. We must focus on uniting the tribes and let the northerner do as he will. Then, if he ever manages to march a significant force into the southlands we can easily defeat him with the combined cavalry force of the nomads. Nothing can stand against ten thousand mounted warriors.”
“We cannot unite the tribes of the Sands during only nighttime hours,” said Tahnoon as he looked up at the heavy black tent cover that separated them from the rays of the sun. Ras is the most important deity in all the world and you cannot participate in His worship. This is the obstacle to your plan and it must be overcome. However, if these strangers are from the north and arrive in the Sands so ill prepared for its difficulties it is possible that Corancil has found a means to travel great distances without a march.”
“You’ve waxed on poetically about these portals he is creating on numerous occasions but even if they worked how to get an entire army through them with supplies, beasts of burdens, camp followers, and all the other necessary items of an army? The water alone would be impossible.”
“We cannot underestimate the danger this man represents,” said Tahnoon as he helped himself to a bowl of dates that sat on a little plate nearby. He popped one entirely into his mouth with a smooth, and well-practiced motion, and spat the seed into a bronze spittoon not far away. “It is true we must unite the nomads, but that cannot be achieved until you find a way to travel in the daylight hours. They will never give you respect if you cannot attend to the ceremonies of Ras. Even the blasphemous Golden Worm nomads give Him ceremony.”
“It is a dilemma,” said Ming leaning back in his chair and yawning pointedly. “One we have discussed many times before.”
Tahnoon shook his head, “Yes, you know my opinion on the subject. The darkling queen is our answer. You hate her, yes, but she has a means to resolve this issue.”
“Until Corancil stands at the Rocks of the Three Knives with an army of fifty-thousand warriors I will not go to her and beg,” said the Black Rider suddenly getting to his feet and staring down at the fat man. His hands clenched at his side and his jaw was tight and tense.
“And I know your opinion,” said Tahnoon popping another date in his mouth. “That being the case, perhaps we can talk about these northerners who will arrive in four days.”
“Unless the desert swallows their souls,” said Ming unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
“You must learn to keep disdain of our ways to yourself,” said Tahnoon and with a sharp ting, spat a seed into the spittoon with perfect accuracy. “There are many among us of strong religious beliefs and your own lack of faith might be disturbing to that… majority.”
“It bothers you not,” said the Black Rider, resumed his seat, and stared at the parchments on the table.
“I am more concerned with earthly rather than spiritual matters,” replied Tahnoon. “But you cannot underestimate the fervor or faith. Those that believe are willing to make sacrifices that others will not. It was our manipulation of those of faith which propelled you to the lofty position within the Tribe of the Black Horsemen where you currently reside.”
“I grow weary of the prattling of priests,” said Ming with a sigh. “Those damned Farriders are all that stand between me and total control of the desert. Once that is achieved we can easily capture Temin of the Dwarves, Dnubcia of the insect men, and even Tanta of the Sea.”
“There are other tribes beside the Farriders who stand opposed to your rule,” said Tahnoon with an idle look at the steadily emptying bowl of dates.
“None of consequence, as you well know,” replied Ming with a sneer. “Once the Farriders fall under my sway the rest will come along, even the Golden Worm.”
“The Worms are of no military significance although their magical power is beyond compare. They will submit to whoever pays the most and will work diligently enough after that. But it is your disdain of religious matters that causes us the most distress with the Farriders. Perhaps, when taking the omens before battle you might consider actually glancing at the lamb entrails?”
“Witches, superstitious,” said Ming with a wave of his hand. “Why do people believe in such nonsense?”
“The mind wants reason,” said Tahnoon. “When it looks at a cloud it sees a dragon or a horse where no such beast exists.”
“Is it not reason enough that I, with my military experience, believe that it is a good day for battle? What more reason could there be? The entrails of a goat? That is nonsense and I find it wearisome and hypocritical nonsense at that.”
“Men are strange creatures,” said Tahnoon. “Without a reason they will balk at even the simplest of commands. But, if properly motivated, indoctrinated with religious fervor, they will do as commanded without a second’s hesitation.”
“I do not want such simpletons around me,” said Ming. “I want men who see the world as it is. Men who see an enemy so that we might slay him.”
“I agree, those are good men with which to surround yourself,” said Tahnoon. “But, most men cannot live up to such lofty expectations. Most men are simpletons and they must be treated with care for even though simple, they can prove invaluable in many ways. You know that I am correct, Ming. Ever since you crawled out of that hole of yours, nearly dead, and found your way into my tent, you’ve known that I possess the wisdom you need to become the conqueror you never were below.”
“There were a few setbacks below,” said Ming with a snort and a nonchalant wave of his left hand. “I will admit as much.”
“It was because of your lack of religious piety. You must learn that the vast majority of people can never hope to achieve our level of rationality. They live in a dream world, a foggy facsimile of the real world, where reality is a dream and their own fantasies reality.”
“As a boy I hoped to teach people differently,” said Ming with a sigh. “To lead a revolution against the darkling queens and eventually conquer all below.”
“The dreams of a child,” said Tahnoon and ate yet another of the sweet dates. “In this grownup world we must not try to educate people but use their ignorance for our own benefit. If they believe drinking the sand will quench their thirst then we must somehow use that to our advantage. You can save a person from a wild lion but you cannot save him from himself. Have I taught you nothing over the years?”
“You have taught me,” said Ming and slowly nodded his head, “and taught me well. I hear your words. Now, what shall we do with these northerners when they arrive? Torture? Gentle kindness?”
“I think kindness,” said the fat man as he reached into the bowl but found it empty. He looked over and shook his head sadly. “Your austerity is most unwelcome. You must learn to treat your guests with hospitality. It is the way of the nomad.”
“Kindness it will be,” said Ming to Tahnoon and then turned to face the back of the tent and called out to the folds, “More dates!” Then he turned back to Tahnoon, “or I will be accused of being a bad host and, as I recall, there are few things worse to be called than that.”
“You learn, you learn. Still, we must garner as much information from these northerners as possible. It is clear they are spies of Corancil here to seek out as much information about us and our status with the other nomads as possible. They will most certainly have some well-fabricated and elaborate lie prepared for us. We should pretend to believe this nonsense while pouring sweet wine for them in the comfort of your tent. Now, do you think we should convince them that we are weak or that we are strong so that they will report as much to the warrior of the north?”
“That is a reasonable question, Tahnoon,” said Ming and closed his eyes while he took several breaths. Then he opened them and nodded his head with a quick, short motion, “We should pretend that we are strong if we hope to dissuade Corancil from his invasion plans or at least cause a delay. We should do the opposite if we want him to invade before he is ready in the hopes of catching his armies in a weakened condition.”
The fat man nodded his head, “Well stated, the final decision is yours to make.”
“I will consider further on the subject. We have four days to wait and we do not know the nature of these spies. It might prove necessary simply to kill them,” said the Black Rider as he watched a pretty girl with flimsy yellow robes that covered her completely from cheek to foot but somehow hinted of flesh enter into the room and set down a tray in front of Tahnoon. “Now, you will enjoy my hospitality so that my reputation will not be sullied? You don’t mind if I drink my dark wine?” he said as a girl brought him a small goblet filled with a deep red liquid that had the aroma almost of chocolate.
“You darklings and your strange tastes; no please, go right ahead but if you could refrain from bringing in those cheeses, they reek,” said Tahnoon and wrinkled his nose.
“As you wish, you are my guest. Now, do you think we can determine how they will communicate their espionage back to Corancil. Some magical device no doubt but one that perhaps we can detect and even eavesdrop upon?” said Ming as he inhaled deeply from the glass. “Mmm, delicious. One more thing, Tahnoon.”
“Yes, oh mighty one?” replied the large man with a smile.
“That rider, find out who he is and give him his own patrol. We need more like him in the ranks of captains.”
“It will be done,” said Tanhoon. “He is from a good family and they will be pleased with his promotion. You have angered some of the families with your decisions of late.”
“If war is coming to the Sands then we need our best leaders in front not those whose family hold a dear place in the history of the Black Horsemen,” said Ming. “I will not make useless political appointments. It saps the entire army from within.”
“I understand your philosophy, oh great master of the desert,” said Tanhoon with an indulgent smile on his face. “But sometimes the best warriors do not come from the families with the finest breeding stock nor the most wealth. An army is made of soldiers certainly but they must have proper equipment and mounts or they cannot defend the nation.”
“Pragmatism over idealism, then?” said Ming with a rueful smile. “That is a language I’m beginning to understand all too well.”