A/N: Many and belated thanks and lots of cookies to Bronxwench for offering her patient beta-reading and advice when I've asked for it. I'd like to think that the story is better for it.

Also, it's probably time for our periodic reminder that I do not own this world or its characters, with the exception of Nadiya and a few other, minor cast members. I wouldn't argue with Nadiya about that, either. She gets real feisty when people disagree with her.

12.

The men were singing again.

They did that with every death, and they did it every time one of us came back from death. Either was an occasion for mourning.

I sat on the sill of the temple's front window and watched the smoke curl up through the noontime air. The sky was pale blue, and there were no clouds. The day was already hot, and would most likely become hotter.

The corpses are truly going to stink today, I thought glumly.

One of the corpses was undoubtedly that of our mother's brother, Hiram. I had not known him well, but he had always been kind enough to me.

Hiram had vanished two days prior. Then he had come back. The warriors had killed him again, this time for good. Now he was being burned, along with all of the others who had returned to us in that way.

It had been a strange few tendays. When we were not being attacked, we were waiting to be attacked. The undead no longer came only at night, but at all times of day. Kel-Garas appeared to enjoy surprises.

We seldom left the temple, now, unless it was to conduct raids into the lich's tomb. When that happened, we did not have much to show for it, other than more men to burn two days after. Ali had confided in me that he would not try that again. I did not blame him. We were down to a few dozen warriors, and more seemed to die every day. Those who fell in battle, we burned, so that the armies of the lich would not drag their corpses away, too, and turn them into zombies.

I hoped that it would not hurt, being turned into a zombie – or, if it did, I hoped that it would end once they burned me.

Below me, those men who needed it, rested. Many slept. Some ate. Others polished their swords. A scattered few sat and stared into space.

Most of them ignored my presence there. Some of them did so politely, as was appropriate - I was not directly related to all of them, nor was I married to any of them, and so it was not very seemly for us to speak directly. Others ignored me as if I did not – or perhaps should not – even exist.

They had argued over me, those men. Some had thought that I should be sent away without an escort, for my disobedience. Some few had suggested that I be sent out to fight, if that was what I wanted. "Let the lich take the sullen girl," they had sneered. Ali had gotten very angry, then. I would have been happy for his defense, if not for the fact that I was the reason he was obliged to deal with this in the first place.

I had tried not to listen to the arguments, but it was hard, when there were men shouting about you not six feet from where you sat.

I had stopped speaking to any of my relatives but Ali several days ago. Ali spoke little, anyway. Day by day, his words grew fewer and terser, and the lines of his face grew gaunter and more drawn.

I held his hand, when I could – when the other men would not see, and consider it a weakness for him to be comforted by his little sister. That was mostly at night, when everyone else was sleeping. At those times, Ali gripped my hand so tightly that I felt my bones grind together. I said nothing. What could I say that would make it better?

I stared out of the window. There were figures striding up to the temple. They seemed to be in a hurry. I thought I recognized Ali and a few of his warriors, but Ali had the arm of another which was unfamiliar to me. Sunlight glinted off of metal armor.

Abruptly, I sat upright. In my urgency, I forgot my manners. "Ali is coming!" I announced shrilly. "Open the doors!"

A few of the nearest men exchanged glances. "He was on watch," one of them murmured. "If he is back so soon, it must be-"

A hollow pounding sounded against the doors. It sounded like someone had banged the hilt of a scimitar against the wood.

"-urgent?" the man finished in a startled voice. Several of them leapt up and hurried to unbar the doors.

The opening door nearly knocked them all flat on their backs. "Close that," Ali snapped over his shoulder. He pushed someone ahead of him, who stumbled slightly over the threshold.

I stared down at them both, speechless.

The intruder who seemed to have so offended Ali was not only an outlander.

She was a woman. And Ali looked very, very angry indeed.


Ali bound the woman to one of the columns. I could see that he was trying to be gentle, though there was a snap to his motions that betrayed his agitation.

They spoke, briefly. Then his face darkened at something she said, and he rose, turning away from her.

Had she been Bedine, she might have recognized the scorn he showed her by turning his back on her. It said that she was of so little threat to him that he could afford to ignore her. I doubted, however, that she appreciated the insult.

To my surprise, Ali veered towards me. "Come down from there, Nadiya," he ordered, in his sheikh's voice.

I frowned, and slipped down from the window ledge, holding my robes tightly to keep them from sliding up and showing my legs to all and sundry. I had offended enough sensibilities lately. I did not need to add to it. "What is it, Ali?" I asked quietly. My eyes kept darting to the woman and away. I was not certain why. I had seen outlanders – men and women – when the caravans came, though usually the women did not go about armored. "Who is she?"

My brother lent his hands to help me down. He ignored my questions. "Have you done anything else to anger the spirits recently?" he asked instead, tartly.

I blinked. "Not since the last time," I answered honestly. "Why?"

My brother wore an expression of despair that verged on hilarity, as if events had reached such a level of absurdity that he was not certain whether to laugh or to cry. "She is a priestess of Shaundakul," he hissed to me. "A caravan came, seeking water…and she was among them. Can you believe the ill luck?"

I stared up at him, not quite believing my ears. "A priestess of-"

My brother's expression turned pained. "Please do not make me repeat it, Nadiya."

Confused, I spared a glance towards the woman. I had heard the stories of Shaundakul, the Treacherous Lurker in the Sands, and his many trickeries. I did not know what I had expected from a priestess of that evil god, but… "She does not look that dangerous," I said dubiously. Mostly, the strange woman looked tired and flushed from the heat.

Ali shrugged. "Looks can be deceiving," he averred. "Especially in those who follow that great trickster."

I thought about that. "Perhaps you should gag her?" I suggested helpfully.

"I swore not to mistreat her."

I blinked again. "Why did you do that?"

"Because she did not come alone, and I wanted-" Ali grimaced slightly, as if his own words left a foul taste in his mouth. "I wanted to buy her companion's good behavior," he finished grimly.

"Why?" I asked curiously. I had only seen one outlander, not two. "Who is her companion? Where has she – he? - gone?"

I had not thought it possible for Ali's face to darken any further, but it did. "He is a mage."

My jaw dropped. "A ma-"

Annoyance flickered across my brother's face. "Nadiya, would you please stop repeating everything I say?" he asked plaintively. "Talking to you is making me feel as if I am shouting into a canyon."

I flushed. "Yes, my brother," I mumbled.

Ali took one look at my reddening cheeks and sighed. His voice softened slightly. "They were encircled by undead when we found them near the wadi," he explained. "I saw how they fought. She was no warrior, and used none of her magic, but he…he was not troubled by the undead. Far from it."

"So where has he gone?"

Ali's voice was flat. "To the tomb."

"The t-" I caught my brother's long-suffering look and stuttered to a stop. Warily, I peeked behind him to see if anyone was standing near us, and I lowered my voice. "You would send an outlander mage to do what Hammad could not?"

My brother smiled wryly, though there was little humor in it. "As you have so often said, Nadiya…it takes magic to fight magic. If he succeeds, we will be free of our curse-"

"And if he betrays us?"

He shrugged. "That is why we have her," he said smoothly. "Her welfare appears to be of some importance to the outlander mage, though he of course denies it. She will be a hostage to his good behavior."

I felt a faint smile curve my lips. "That sounds like something Hammad would say," I complimented my brother.

He inclined his head gravely, though there was a bittersweet quirk to his lips. "Thank you," he said softly. Then he sighed, and lowered his head to speak in a near-whisper. "Am I doing the right thing, Nadiya?" he asked suddenly. "I have allowed a mage into our home, though the gods have told us never to trust them. I have allowed him into the tomb-"

I frowned up at my brother. "Of course you have done the right thing, Ali. If he fails, we will be dead anyway," I argued – reasonably, I thought. "And if he succeeds, well, it is easier to ask forgiveness than it is to ask permission." I shrugged. "We can apologize to the spirit world afterwards."

Ali gave me a bemused glance. "That also sounds like something Hammad would say."

I gave him a brief bow. "Thank you, oh sheikh."

Ali's next words deflated my pride like a punctured bladder. "Do not thank me," he said, just as blandly. "Hammad's influence is part of the reason why you defied my orders and stayed here. You thought it was better to ask my forgiveness than my permission, did you not?"

All words – excuses, prevarications, even mere retorts – fled me at the look of mild, knowing censure on my brother's face. "Er," I said.

My brother sighed and rolled his eyes. "Well, at least Hammad's influence has not taught you how to lie," he murmured drily. Then he stepped away, straightening. His face returned to its grim sheikh's mask. "I will need water," he said abruptly. "What do we have to spare?"

I responded in kind, crossing my arms over my chest and stiffening slightly. I did not like Ali-the-sheikh nearly as much as I liked Ali-my-brother. "For yourself?"

Ali's face twisted in distaste. "For her." The tone of his voice left no doubt as to whom he meant. "She is an outlander. She has already lost too much water today, fighting. She does not understand how quickly thirst can kill her."

I bowed quickly and found a spare skin of water and a cup, which I gave to Ali.

Then, my duty apparently satisfied for the time being, I sat down in the shadow of a column, out of the way of things.

Because I had nothing else to do, I examined the stranger as Ali knelt before her and offered her the water to drink.

The woman had long, curly dark hair and pale eyes, not unlike Zebah's. Her skin was paler than I was used to seeing, and flushed from the sun and the heat, but there was something about her that reminded me of our mother, which was strange. Though they were both tall and dark-haired, they did not truly look at all alike, and while this woman's features were compelling enough in a severe sort of way, she was certainly not our mother's equal in either beauty or grace.

I chewed on my lower lip and stared at her openly, trying to decide what it was about her that seemed so familiar. It was something in her bearing, I decided – the regal way in which she held her head, perhaps, or the haughty arch to her eyebrows - that suggested that here was a woman who was accustomed to being obeyed. Perhaps that was it.

She was not being obeyed now, of course. As a matter of fact, she was quite helpless, and had no authority here. But I doubted that our mother would let that stop her, either. Whatever her circumstances, she would always be the wife of a sheikh at heart. This woman had much the same attitude. She was disarmed and tied to a column and her leather-and-scale was covered in dust and blood, but she neither glanced at the ropes binding her nor acknowledged them in any way, as if they were an irrelevancy.

I wondered who this mage was who had come with her, and whether he was anything like she was. Was he a brother, or a husband, or an uncle? Whatever relation he bore to her, I tried not to hope that he would succeed, because I could not see how one outlander mage could do what Hammad could not. Then, abruptly, I changed my mind, and I did allow myself to hope for his success, because while I was not certain what Kel-Garas would do with a dead mage, I was certain that it would not be good for us.

It will be what it will be, I thought wearily, and let my head fall back against the column. The stone still felt very unfriendly, but at least it was cool. Trust in Ali. He is much less of a goat than the rest of my brothers.

I had just begun to doze off when I heard a far-off boom, almost as if a boulder had toppled from a cliff and hit the ground below.

My eyes popped open. My head jerked forward. I thought I felt a tremor in the stones beneath me.

Kel-Garas, I thought, and reached for my sword instinctively. Then I remembered that I was not allowed to draw it, and I stopped. Has he-

The door boomed under the urgent pounding of one of our tribe. Men rushed to open it at Ali's command. Sunlight streamed in, though it was immediately blocked by black-robed bodies.

Malik staggered through first. He was covered in a fine layer of dust, and his eyes were as wide as if he'd seen a waking nightmare. "Ali," he gasped, and stood, swaying, in the temple's dim half-light. "The tomb - something is happening at the tomb."