Author's notes: Sorry it's been so long. University is demanding, and I just seem to have less and less free time on my hands! But fear not, I won't abandon you! Apologies if this chapter is just a "filler" but not every chapter can be a knife edge thriller! Let's just hope my fan fiction factory get's a bit more productive soon!

Replies:
Vera1992 - Nope, Zolm's not much of a womanizer... but I know a certain little Gypsy that's going to do everything to change that, wouldn't you agree?
Mina - No problem! I just hope this chapter was worth the wait!
sorree - I'm glad you like the Zolm/Nasreen dark reflection of Dastan/Tamina. Nice job on picking up that! Also, I liked giving Nizam a reason to be afraid, give him a little more depth. I found it quite hard in the movie to believe he would be that twisted after having such a good life, so I'm enjoying looking into his character a bit deeper.
Starfish - Hopefully you'll get the kiss you've been waiting for soon. Just need to wait for the opportune moment. Also, I think you might find another of your favourite characters returns here! ;)

Chapter 9 – Bargain Between Beggers

As dawn broke, Dastan reached out his hand and gently shook Tamina awake. They had taken shifts throughout the night. It was too unsafe for both of them to be asleep in the middle of the wilderness. Besides, Dastan didn't believe himself capable of lying down beside her and being able to sleep. He wanted her, but knew that she would never let him near her until the proper vows had been said. He had tried to think about anything else, to distract him from the impure thoughts that were trying to attract his attention. He began to count the stars and had tallied twenty three before he'd began to think about her lips, and her hair, and her perfect skin.

Dastan stifled a yawn as Tamina gradually began to wake. He was thoroughly wearied by the previous day and there was a dull ache behind his eyes that he attributed to the lack of sleep. The pains which addled his stomach were also probably due to the hunger.

She groaned as she broke the surface of consciousness.

"I've been thinking," he began.

Tamina opened one dark brown eye.
"Well that's never a promising," she muttered, then closed it again as if returning to sleep.

Tipping the water canteen at an angle, he dripped some onto her face. She gave a gasp of surprise and sat bolt upright.

"Now that you're listening," he continued, fighting back the urge to laugh at the furious look on her face, "I've been thinking…"

She folded her arms crossly, but looked at him to continue.

"…we can't go into bandit country looking like this."
He gestured to the wedding regalia that he was still wearing.
"We'll be walking targets."

Tamina pursed her lips.
"As much as it pains me to admit, but I think you're right."

By mid-morning they were making their way thought the valley. Their once gleaming white clothes had been dulled and dirtied by mud and the vigorous pounding and scraping of sharp stones.

It had been almost a full day since either of them had eaten anything. He had been hoping that they might have stumbled across a lost goat or even some fruit on the oasis trees. But there had been nothing. The sun was growing hotter by the moment and they would soon have to look for shelter to spend the hottest part of the day.

What had been a dull headache that morning, was now a crushing pain behind his eyes that had Dastan wondering whether or not Tamina had stabbed him in the head when he had been sleeping. But not wanting to be a burden, or admit that he was suffering at all, he hadn't mentioned anything. However, he hadn't taken into account a woman's intuition.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," he lied, "It's just the heat, and the hunger."
He turned his head to smile in reassurance, but the sudden movement of his head caused his vision to blur. Then, he was overwhelmed by darkness.

Tamina watched in horror as he slipped sideways off his horse, and landed with a thud onto the sand below.

"Dastan!"
She reigned her horse to a stop and jumped down and ran to him. Rolling over his body she brushed the sand from his sweat stricken face. Reaching down she poured some water from the canteen onto his face in the hope of reviving him. But it was to no avail. He was still breathing, but shivering at the same time. In this heat, feeling cold was not a good omen. Her next thought was that she would put him on his horse, and lead it in the hope that they would soon find the bandit camp that he'd told her about. However, one useless attempt at lifting him ruled out that plan. She couldn't even drag him, let alone lift him onto a horse.

With the tendrils of fear and anxiety beginning to creep up into her throat, she fought back the feeling of choking and took a few deep breaths. Looking around, she saw nothing but sand and mountains. She wasn't even sure what direction they had been travelling in; every which way she looked was the same. Spotting a sand dune, she left Dastan and began to climb it, hoping to get a better view. When she reached the crest, her heart missed a beat. On the other side was a patrol of some sort. For a moment she wrestled with herself. This was outlaw territory, and these could be murders and thieves. But she didn't have another option, if she didn't get help soon Dastan would die. And without him, she didn't have a chance. Her only option would be to return the dagger to the mountain temple, and she doubted whether she would make the journey without food.

"Hey!" she called out as loud as her lungs would allow, waving her arms in the air, "Over here!"

They saw her, and changed direction. Tamina ran back down the sandy slope to where Dastan lay, hoping that they would be less inclined to threaten her when they saw her situation. Or perhaps, they would be more ready to attack when they saw she was unprotected. Closing her eyes, she sent a silent prayer to the gods, and put a reassuring hand on the dagger behind her back. It would be useless for defence, but she would rather die by her own hand than someone else's.

As they approached, Tamina tried to keep her composure cool, but bartering with outlaws in the desert had never been addressed in her lessons.

"It's a little early in the day for sleep," one man commented, as they pulled their horses into a circle around her. From the way the other's laughed, as if it was required of them, it was clear he was some sort of leader.

"He's ill," she began, "Can you help me?"

He laughed, showing a row of slowly rotting teeth.
"I know your game you little sand wench. You intend to fool us into thinking your friend is ill, and then when we least expect it, you'll rob us blind and kill us."

He said all of this with exaggerated hand movements.

"Even if that were true, do you really expect the two of us to best the dozen of you?"

"Of course not," he sneered, "do you want to know why?"
He got off his horse, and approached her.

"You see him?"

He pointed to one of his men, whose skin was as black as the night sky and wielded a strange looking knife which he twirled absently in his hand.
"This is Seso. In the heart of Sudan, there is a tribe of warriors known as the Ngbaka. They strike fear into the hearts of all they cross. The Ngbaka are masters of the throwing knife, wielding blades said to be blessed by the creator himself."

At this he pointed to the sky.

"Their aim is so murderously accurate, they can decapitate three men, with one strike. Seso here is an Ngbaka and I had the good fortune of saving his life which means that he is now enduringly indebted to me. So, girl, if you try any funny business, Seso will have no qualms about disposing of you, and your little friend, who by the looks of things, is half gone anyway."

Her natural response at this point would have been a scathing remark, but she swallowed her pride and considered that the best thing to get Dastan to some help would be to not aggravate them.

"I would be very grateful if you could tell me how to get to the outlaw camp in this valley."

"Exactly, how, grateful?" he leered. Several men heckled at this point, making rude remarks. Tamina wrinkled her nose and backed away.

"These horses are the finest Persian breed," she said, changing the subject, "Help me and you can take whichever you think will fetch you the higher price."

He considered this for a moment.

"Both of them, and we have a deal."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she exclaimed before she had time to think about what she had said.

"You're not really in a position to bargain with me," he chuckled. "It's both the horses, or we leave you and your friend to the vultures. There's no way you'll find the camp on your own."

Tamina was reluctant to give up both of the horses. After all, how would they get back to Alamut when Dastan recovered? If, he recovered.

"Give us some money for food and a place to stay and you have a deal."
Tamina offered out her hand to be shaken as a mark of the agreement.

For a moment he considered, then, with a reluctant sigh, he shook it.

Sharaman was only the first of many. Throughout those next few days in the palace prison, they saw them being brought in. Young and old, men and women, there seemed to be no sort of discretion with who Nizam chose as his victims. One thing was the same though, and that was the lifeless expression they wore on their faces, like someone who had lost their mind to old age.

Garsiv was like a caged animal. Unable to stay still, he paced up and down in the small space relentlessly.

Tus, on the other hand had resigned himself to sitting quietly in the corner, puzzling over everything while he ran his fingers over prayer beads. Occasionally he would break out of his trance to feed his father. It was like caring for an infant and it sickened him to see his father reduced to this.

At that moment, something inside of Garsiv snapped and he began shaking the bars of the cell and screaming. Tus, who had seen him do this several times in the last few days just sighed.

"You're wasting your strength and breath," he said, "It's not going to help."

"Well it's a damn sight more than you're doing!" the younger yelled in response.

"I'm praying!" Tus snapped.

Garsiv cackled sarcastically.
"Praying? Our uncle has risen from the grave and used whatever ungodly powers he has at his disposal to rob our father of his mind and soul and you still think every problem can be solved with some pretty words to the gods?

"Precisely. There's nothing left for us Garsiv, all we can do now is pray for a miracle."

"What about Dastan?"

Tus smiled whimsically.
"I hope Dastan and the Princess are as far away as possible from here. He knows that to return would be suicide for them both. I just hope that they can salvage some sort of life for themselves, and forget about all this in time."

"Brother, do you really think it's in Dastan's nature to run away and forget?"

"No, but I'm hoping that for once he's being sensible about this and stays away."

Garsiv laughed.
"I give him a week before he attempts some half-baked rescue attempt."

The oldest of the Persian princes looked up regretfully.
"That's what I'm afraid of."

Zolm took another deep breath, letting the incense fill his lungs and his mind. The Hassansins had gathered themselves in a deserted courtyard of the palace to conduct one of their rituals.

"Focus your mind on the Prince and Princess," one whispered, who had been appointed to lead this particular gathering.

Two heads were better than one, and seven were even better than two. All the Hassansins gathered and used their skills together when they had been called to search for someone. Visions were an unpredictable matter, and if they were to find a certain person, it would usually take time of all seven of them meditating for one to find them.

The Hassansin leader closed his ice blue eyes and thought of Dastan and the Alamutian princess.

There was the usual haze of images, past, present and future. Occasionally, one of the Hassansins in training would go mad with the things that they saw. Death of loved ones, their own death, cheating lovers, betrayal; all these things were common in the visions. Good deeds were never the ones the spirits wished to show you.

Zolm had seen his own death before. He knew that it would be by sword and that he would be standing looking at his killer. But the identity of the person remained unknown. It didn't bother him, it could be days away, or decades. Everyone died eventually, it was the way things were, and would always be.

Suddenly, he heard a scream in his mind. It was a terrible sound of pain beyond comprehension, the sound of someone dying. Intrigued, Zolm focused in on the noise, trying to clear the figures which he saw. Another lung full of smoke and the face behind the scream began to clear. It was Nasreen.

With a start, Zolm was wrenched from his trance. He was breathing heavily, and his heart was racing. The wretched little gypsy was the bane of his existence, so why was the sight of her last moments so disturbing to him? She may be a nuisance, but she was more or less harmless. She didn't deserve the fate that had merited such a blood curdling cry.

There was no way that he would be able to clear his mind to continue the search for Dastan and Tamina after what he'd seen, so he got up to leave the circle. Just at that moment, Horus spoke, his voice distant and dreamy from the insence.

"I've got them. They're hiding in the desert, in a bandit camp, two day's ride east of here."

"Excellent," Zolm replied hastily, trying to forget what he'd seen, "Inform Nizam immediately. His army will depart in the morning."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move. Immediately he thought of her and turned, but it was nothing more than the branch of a tree, swaying slowly in the night breeze.