Silk and Secrets(132)

Juliet smiled faintly. "I would trade all of this sand for just about anything you could mention."

Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from Murad, who had just rounded the next sandy hill. Alarmed by the note in his voice, Juliet and Ross spurred their horses forward until they caught up with the other two men.

Less than a quarter of a mile ahead was a party of black-hatted Turkomans. There were at least twenty young men and no women or children, so it was a raiding party—and the Turkomans had seen the newcomers and were cantering forward to investigate.

Juliet muttered an oath. "Talk about being caught between the devil and the deep blue sea."

"Frankly, those are two choices I would prefer to these," Ian said acerbically.

Juliet tried to decide what would be the best course, but her weary mind was blank. They might have been able to outshoot the men following them, but there were too many Turkomans to fight, and trying to outrun both hostile groups would be hopeless, given the debilitated state of their horses.

Ross exhaled with a soft, rueful sigh. "There's only one solution. Throw ourselves on the Turkomans' mercy and hope that the laws of hospitality protect us." Then, to Juliet's horror, her husband spurred his horse directly at the Turkoman war party, his right hand raised in a sign of peace.

"He's right," Ian said tersely. Putting his heels to his mount, he followed Ross.

Juliet and Murad exchanged an appalled glance. "They are mad to trust themselves to Turkoman marauders!" Murad exclaimed.

Juliet couldn't have agreed more, but she didn't have a better suggestion. "Are not madmen holy in Islam?" she said wryly as she adjusted her tagelmoust. "And is hospitality not sacred? Let us pray that these Turkomans believe both of those things."

With a kind of light-headed bravado, she raced after Ross and Ian, who were now face-to-face with the Turkomans. Behind her hooves sounded as Murad did the same. They joined the group just as Ross said, "We beg your hospitality, for the last well was dead and our horses are sore pressed."

"You ask hospitality?" The elaborately dressed young man who seemed to be the leader was incredulous; doubtless he was more accustomed to travelers fleeing in the opposite direction.

For a moment their fate wavered in the balance between social obligation and bandit greed. Then another Turkoman said excitedly, "It is Khilburn, the ferengi who defeated Dil Assa and won the bozkashi match!" He edged his mount forward for a better view. "With my own eyes, I saw him do it. Never would I have believed an infidel could play bozkashi so well."

Two other men who had been at the bozkashi match chimed in. One was a cousin of Dil Assa's, and he described how Dil Assa had given his opponent the wolf- edged cap after the match.

The suspicious mass of Turkomans dissolved into a laughing, boisterous group. The youth who had made the first identification said curiously, "I heard that you were traveling to Bokhara to ask for your brother's release, Khilburn. Did the amir grant your request?"

"No, he refused." Ross paused with deliberate showmanship. "Hence, because Nasrullah gave us no choice, I and my friends Murad and Jalal"—he nodded at both in turn—"were forced to steal my brother from the Black Well."

As the listeners gasped with amazement, Ross gestured at Ian. "And here my brother is, reclaimed from the amir's dungeon." With his bandaged eye, full red beard, and gaunt height, Ian was a figure to impress even Turkoman marauders.

When asked how the rescue had been accomplished, Ross briefly described his disguise, forged documents, and bluster, a story his audience found uproariously funny. When the laughter died down, Ross said, "Some of the amir's soldiers are pursuing us and are scarcely more than a gunshot behind, with a dozen rifles to our two. This is another reason we beg your aid."

The leader, who had introduced himself as Subhan, grinned. "It will be a pleasure to assist the legendary Khilburn." Turning to his companions, he said, "We come from an oasis and are well-supplied with water. Will four of you exchange waterskins with our friends?"

Within two minutes the exchange had been made. Then Subhan said, "Our way lies opposite yours. When we meet your pursuers, we will chastise them for their effrontery at following you into the Kara Kum. The desert is ours, and none may pass safely but at our pleasure." A chorus of agreement rose around him.

"A thousand thanks." Ross inclined his head gravely. "Courage such as yours comes from the heart and is beyond price, but nonetheless I would like to offer a small token of our gratitude." He delved into his saddlebags when the water was being transferred and tossed a clinking leather pouch to the Turkoman leader. "Though I cannot host a feast in person, I beg that you use this to celebrate and honor your generous courage."