Saied knew he must not make the least mistake. He studied the seated traders. All were dressed in ankle length shirts of linen, wrapped at the waist with long sashes. Their over-robes were finer than the richest of the people from the town fort. Threads of gold glittered in the firelight. Saied calmed himself and took courage. These men could pay nicely for the things that his village offered for trade. Saied took in every detail of the men who called themselves Anazah, and how they spoke, how they looked, how they moved. He wanted to remember it all. The most important was the bejeweled man in the center, Hashem Mhayd, and he seemed the easiest to talk to. In old Hasham Mhayd's lap lay a golden cord. Saied let his attention follow the cord back into the shadows, into the darkness behind the sheik. His breath caught in his chest. Standing behind Hashem Mhayd was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She was so lovely, excitement dried his startled eyes. As if called by Saied's attention, the horse stepped forward into the flickering firelight and let her head, circled by a golden halter, rest above the chief's shoulder. The war mare of Sheik Hashem Mhayd Ibn Abdullah. More beautiful than dew glittering in the sunshine, more impressive than any great man seated in the trading circle, she was magnificent. Her eyes shone large and luminous, and Saied felt she could understand the whole world. Her nostrils flared out like delicate flowers. The night breeze lifted the hair of her mane ever so slightly, like a silken waterfall. She stood there with a queen's grandeur, and Saied believed that surely she must be more noble than any creature.

Twilight deepened on the second night as they approached the cliffs and canyons. They passed through a jumble of great rocks and followed a path that alternately narrowed and widened. Ahead, the canyon walls squeezed to a steep-sided cleft, and everyone was forced to ride single file. They seemed to disappear, as the tight darkness engulfed the camels ahead of Saied and Wadduda. Fear prickled the hair on the back of Saied's neck, and as Wadduda moved behind his camel, he called to Allah to protect her from evil spirits. He stared into the shadows and wished he had a rock to cast at ghosts who might lurk there. His camel nosed into the dark canyon, following the rump ahead of him, Saied heard an echo of shouting and the clash of lances reverberating in the canyon. Behind him hoof beats thundered, and he turned in the saddle to see the distant shapes of Shamar warriors approaching. His stomach dropped to his toes, and his heart rose to his throat. They'd been found out. It was a trap. He knew not how many warriors blocked the head of the canyon, but the sounds of battle crashed against the narrow walls. With the riders closing in from behind, the Anazah would be crushed.

Crickets chirped in the courtyard. Moonlight and shadows played across the cobblestones. Despite the stillness, Wadduda felt restless. She missed Saied. Always he was there to watch over her, and when he was not, things seemed tilted and out of balance. Uncomfortably, she shifted her weight from one back foot to the other. The life within her belly also seemed restless and continued to kick at a particular spot under her ribs. Once it jabbed so hard she jumped. To soothe herself she settled in her stall and went to another place in her mind. She pictured the open desert. She listened to the sand dunes being shifted by a warm breeze and felt its hot breath as it caressed her cheeks and lifted her mane. Heat flowed through her nostrils, filling her lungs and making her spirit soar. She felt like running. Then her hooves hardly touched the ground, and she flew, like the hawk, like part of the wind. She imagined the black tents of home, raised in the midst of grazing herds. Children laughed and played about her. They reached out to her and giggled when her muzzle brushed their tiny, outstretched hands. A squeaking sound seemed out of place amongst the children, and Wadduda roused enough to recognize the closing of the courtyard gate. Perhaps it was just a servant. Shadows moved in the stable and a slow dread prickled along her spine. With a soft click, her stable door swung shut, blocking her exit. Danger. Alarm turned her body to a coiled spring, but there was nowhere to run. Four shadows stood around her stall and they smelled like Shamar. Two men slipped inside and just as quickly threw ropes around her neck. She reared, striking out with iron hooves. The ropes pulled her down and held her fast, choking off her air. She gasped for breath, and struggled to free herself. The other men opened her stall, and Wadduda charged for the dooorway. Two more ropes snaked around her neck. Writhing and kicking, she was pulled to the courtyard and out to the street. With her front feet, she struck at first one and then the others. She bucked fiercely and lunged. All resistance met a tighter cinch around her neck until she coughed for air. She hit with her head, solid blows that produced muffled cries from her attackers. When one thief came near enough, her teeth clamped on clothed flesh. With a mighty tug, she heard a satisfying yelp of pain. She spat out both fabric and skin and reached for another mouthful. By now, she had been worked into an ally. Two mounted camels waited. Using them for shields, the men tied her to their saddles. Wadduda recognized the smell of Mawsili, her enemy, and knew he sat upon the camel to her right. She tried to take a piece out of his leg, and her neck stung with the blows he returned. The situation called for new tactics.