Margi leaned over—her own massive breasts nearly touching his bed coverings—and wiped his forehead and face with a fresh cloth; the warrior remained completely unaware of her presence. His face was pale, spotted with open blisters about his mouth. But Margi chose instead to hold the healthy image of a rugged warrior in her mind, whose leathery flesh had once caressed her own.
The sores upon his face glistened with moisture, but the infection was too far gone to be treated, even with Taro. He continued to speak in a language she could not understand, though she imagined his madness provided recollections of the past. His eyes remained open and glazed, with a look of vacancy, yet his shivering limbs and garbled sentences assured the woman that he was still very much alive. Although not religious, Margi mouthed a brief request to the gods that his passing might come shortly, for a warrior should not have to undergo such dishonor. She neglected to change his blankets, for they would be wasted, and instead wiped his face one more time—she knew it would be the last.
And as she turned to leave the heaviness of the room, she took but one final thought with her: though she loved life to the fullest, there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that, when the occasion arose, she would choose death rather than dying.
Bestreld walked cautiously through the darkened alleyway, waiting for the lone nomad to make his appearance. The man was unmistakably late for their appointment and the fact only added to the exchequer’s nervousness. Although Bestreld’s ever-present smile and composure disguised his tension, within the folds of his sudeh he carried enough gold to ransom a king, causing him all the more anxiety. Much still needed to be accomplished—and Croesus, as usual, would be angered by the delay.
From the shadows, two of the palace guards watched him closely with their bodies pressed firmly against the brick building for Bestreld was far too wise to wander the city streets alone. The exchequer had acquired nearly as many enemies as Croesus himself, and even the best of plans could find themselves prey to accidental misfortune. For that reason Bestreld had kept most of his intentions to himself. Even the emperor knew only the sketchiest of details, culminating in Lydia’s rule of the plains. The exchequer wandered further, a short distance down the alley, keeping within sight of the guards, before turning directly into the path of his appointment.
“Did you bring the gold?” the shadowed figure whispered gruffly without any semblance of greeting.
Bestreld held his composure and smiled slyly, “I have yet to neglect it, or to overlook its significance to your loyalty.” He paused momentarily, eyeing the lone nomad with suspicion, “Have you made the arrangements?”
“In part; what remains merely awaits your readiness.” Although hidden by the lack of sunlight, the intensity of the nomad’s face remained clear. Whiskers the color of ash were his only beard and his dark, weathered eyes glared angrily, providing quite a contrast to the exchequer’s neverlacking smile.
“Within this fractured tribe, have we found a likely ally?”
“Even among fools the man is a champion. The gods themselves could not have created a more perfect accomplice.”
“You are certain he can be persuaded?”
“It is not I who is doubting . . . ”
“Never mistake caution for doubt,” Bestreld counseled matter-of-factly. “This is far more consequential than you might imagine.”
“Perhaps,” the nomad relented for only a moment, “but were I treasurer to an emperor, I might not so easily underestimate my associates.”
“Is this fool’s fool capable of moving a small group against us? I would choose not to take on the entire settlement, just yet.”
“Exactly as we discussed. He has few allies among his own people, though with the allure of palace women he might persuade a dozen.”
The exchequer glanced about cautiously; he was certain that the nomad’s words had been heard only by himself, but he was nervous. “Is there a chance this man might suspect a deception?”
“None,” the nomad was as confident as he had ever been. “By the time this city of two tribes realizes what has occurred, it will be too late.”
“Excellent,” Bestreld nodded approvingly as he removed the cloth pouch from the fold of his garment. “As ever, you will receive the other half upon completion of the task.”
“Fine,” came the gruff and greedy reply, “I trust we will not find too many obstacles barring our entrance to the Temple School?”
“As we agreed, I will send a message to the square when the time has come.” Without any further acknowledgment, the nomad turned and moved swiftly before disappearing down an alleyway.
As Bestreld moved to go himself, heading in the direction of the palace guards, one thing became quite clear—unfortunate, but clear: once the plan had reached fruition, he would be forced to have the nomad executed.
And the remaining gold might somehow find its way to Bestreld’s own personal supply so that even Croesus would not be the wiser.
After announcing to Midias that the city was to remain stationary, Ravi was left alone with his thoughts. There was much to be done. Although he was uncertain how best to begin, it was obvious that a lack of water was their greatest problem. Certainly the issues with food, trade, filth, and ongoing rivalry remained, but initially the city had to be assured of an ample water supply. The issues facing them proved so numerous that even thoughts of Egypt were pushed from his mind.
Ravi had heard rumors of water in the hills to the east but there couldn’t possibly be enough to satisfy the needs of all the people. Some water could be drawn off the irregular cactuses that sprouted out of the sands, but the tribespeople would have to be careful or the plants would wither and die. Water would have to be gathered in many small quantities, for a single sufficient supply wasn’t likely. To provide reserves for a city, their plan would have to encompass every imaginable source.
From Remai’s chambers, Ravi imagined how they might solve the problem. He would send small caravans to each oasis and to the hills to bring back the liquid. He would instruct them to take no more than was necessary. They would never survive if the water sources were depleted. Groups of women and children would be sent to extract the vital moisture from the desert shrubs and cacti, but only a small amount would be taken—allowing the plants to survive. He would make certain each tent and lean-to had a tarp with which to collect the rain when it fell. Every drop was important. He would ask Sumi and Joell (providing the man was even capable) to direct all phases of the project.
The city might be brought together with a common goal. Women could sew smooth hides into large flasks. Jugs and gourds might be collected into one place. A central tent would be constructed of the sturdiest hides. Within its walls, he would instruct the tribesmen to dig a deep pit into the sand. The hole would reach until the earth was cool and it was there that they would store the flasks, bottles, jugs, and gourds. The entire water supply would be centralized; it would require the help of most of the people, but it could be done. The work would constantly be in progress. Caravans would always be en route to the hills and oases, or returning from them. The women and children would often be out on the sands, searching for new sources. The water stores would be strictly regulated, but all would have what they needed to survive. Even livestock would be filled, for a fat goat brings far more in trade. When the animals were healthy, the children would have milk. It would take constant effort. It would be slow but it might succeed.
Later that afternoon, Ravi found that word of the city remaining stationary had spread rapidly. The change in the mood of his people and their sudden excitement confused him. It was as though the windstorm had never occurred, that their problems were nonexistent, and that the