The Wrath and the Dawn(43)

“Do you have some rope?” he asked the elderly man as he removed the hood from his face.

“Yes, sahib.” The man bowed, over and over.

“That is not necessary; I am not your sahib.”

“The sahib has a fine horse. A fine sword. He is most definitely a sahib.”

Tariq sighed again. “Give me the rope, and I will climb down for the bucket.”

“Oh, thank you, sahib. You are most generous.”

“Not generous. Just thirsty.” Tariq smiled wryly. He took the rope from the man and secured it to the post over the well. Then he paused in consideration. “Don’t try to steal my horse. He’s a temperamental beast, and you won’t get far.”

The elderly man shook his head with such fervor that Tariq thought it might cause him injury. “I would not do such a thing, sahib!”

His intensity put to question his intent.

Tariq studied the man before extending his left arm and whistling to the skies. Zoraya came hurtling from the clouds in a mass of feathers and wicked talons. The elderly man lifted a trembling forearm to his face, warding away the raptor’s piercing menace.

“She likes to start with the eyes,” Tariq said in a flat tone, as Zoraya spread her wings above his leather mankalah and glared at the man.

“I will not do anything disgraceful, sahib!”

“Good. Do you live around here?”

“I am Omar of the Badawi.”

Tariq considered the man once more. “Omar of the Badawi, I’d like to make a deal with you.”

“A deal, sahib?”

“Yes. I’ll retrieve the bucket from the well and assist you in filling the skins with water. In return, I’d like some information on your tribe and its sheikh.”

Omar scratched at his beard. “Why does the nameless sahib want information on my tribe?”

“Don’t worry; I do not wish them ill. I have a great deal of respect for the Badawi. My father purchased this horse from a tribesman several years ago, and he always said the desert wanderers are among the best horsemen in the world.”

“Among?” Omar smiled widely. “We are the best, sahib. Without a doubt.”

Tariq offered him a tentative grin. “Do we have a deal?”

“I believe so, sahib; however, may I ask one last question?”

Tariq nodded.

“What is the purpose behind you seeking out the Badawi?”

Tariq thought for a moment. This elderly man was, at best, a servant. Most likely, a relic sent to collect water on a daily basis so as to maintain an appearance of usefulness in his old age. Giving him information seemed rather harmless.

“I have a business proposition to make.”

“Business?” Omar cackled. “With the Badawi? Why would a rich young sahib need a desert wanderer’s help?”

“I answered your question. Do we have a deal?”

Omar’s dark eyes twinkled. “Yes, yes, sahib. We do.”

Tariq directed Zoraya to a perch atop the well, and then turned to his horse to remove his recurve bow. He lashed the quiver to his back and slung the sinew across his chest, for he was not fool enough to leave behind a weapon. Finally, he tugged on the rope to make sure it was solidly rooted before positioning himself on the stone and mortar brim.

The well was as wide as a man and two times his height, so it was not an especially difficult task to ease his way down and grab the wooden bucket floating on the water’s surface. In short order, Tariq climbed back up the stone hollow and out into the orange dusk of a desert sunset.

He passed the bucket to Omar. “I suggest tying a rope to the handle, for the sake of future ease.”

Omar laughed. “A wise suggestion!”

The two men began the process of filling the animal skins with water and securing them to the camels waiting nearby.

“So,” Tariq commenced, “which Badawi tribe do you ride with?”

Omar grinned. “I ride with the al-Sadiq family.”

“I’ve heard that name before.”

“Many say it is a great family. From a long line of powerful desert wanderers.”

“Who is your sheikh?”

“A sixth-generation son of the al-Sadiq line. Some would argue he’s a bit strange. He studied in Damascus for a time before returning to the desert.”

“And what did he study in Damascus?”

“Sword making. He mastered the craft of iron and steel, sahib.”