Garmansder snorted. Avarilous sighed, and his stomach rumbled.

"Can't we do this over food?" he asked plaintively. "I'm starving."

The Zhent guards had had a sleepy afternoon, basking in the shade of their tent, shielded against the blazing sun. They passed the time throwing dice and drinking raki, a powerful liquor distilled from the stunted bushes that covered the hills around the oasis. By midafternoon they were dozing, half drunk, and not in a mood to be disturbed.

One nudged the other then roused him with a kick. The two men rose and stood, swaying slightly, watching the travelers approach.

They were mounted on a camel, but the one riding in front, the stouter of the two, had his hands bound tightly together, while the other held the end of the rope. As the pair drew nearer, the Zhentarim could see that the fat man had a streak of blood down one cheek and an ugly bruise over his left eye.

The camel halted before the guard's tent, and the thinner man jumped down easily, leaving his bound companion seated on the beast.

"Hail!" he said, in a voice scraped raw by the desert winds. "I want to see your commander."

The more sober of the two guards spat in the sand. "Hah! What for?"

"I have something for him." The traveler jerked the cord he was holding, pulling his prisoner off the camel. The captive crashed to the ground with a loud grunt of pain.

One of the guards sauntered over, trying not to appear unsteady on his feet. "Wasss this?" He stirred the fallen man with his foot.

"I'll tell your commander. Trust me, hell want to see this one right away."

The Zhents exchanged glances, then turned away. One turned back, while the other disappeared into the tent.

"Well get Lieutenant Thass."

"I want to see the commander, not some lieutenant."

"You'll see Thass. Hell 'tide who you see next. He'll be here in m'nit." He slumped back down on the cask he'd been sitting on.

The tall man looked beyond the guard tent at the rest of the oasis. It was bustling with activity. A long line of Bedine tribesmen were passing buckets filled with sand from hand to hand, supervised by purple-robed Zhents, many of whom bore whips or clubs. The sand was being drawn from a central excavation, perhaps fifty feet wide. Even from a distance, the visitor could see a network of ladders and ropes descending into it. A heavy wooden framework had been erected over it with a wheel to haul up the buckets of sand from the shovels of unseen diggers. The air was full of the groan of the wheel, the creaking of the wooden supports, the moaning of the tribesmen, and the shouts and curses of the Zhents.

A Black Robe with an air of authority strode toward the guard tent, his clothing snapping with impatience. He glanced at the sentries then dealt one of them a slap that spun the man around and knocked him bleeding to the ground.

"Fool! Drunk on duty!"

He lifted a hand and inscribed a gesture in the air. The guard screamed, and his hand came up to one cheek. A thin stream of smoke spurted between his fingers as he shrieked with pain. When he brought his hand down, the visitor could see the raw, red mark of the brand that had been magically inscribed on the guard's skin.

The lieutenant turned his attention to the two men before him, while the other guard splashed liquor on his companion's wound and led him back into their tent.

"Who are you, and why are you traveling this way? It's prohibited to come near this place, on pain of death. By rights, I should flay the flesh from your bones here and now, but I'm in an exceptionally good mood today, so I'll listen to your story before I kill you both."

The tall man did not back down.

"I think you'll be happy to have custody of this one." He kicked the recumbent figure before him. This is Avarilous, a so-called merchant. In fact, he's a spy. He was paid by the Bedine to come here and find out what you're up to."

The lieutenant looked at him in astonishment then burst into a bray of laughter.

"A spy! A nice job he seems to have made of it. What did the Bedine scum offer to pay him with? Camel dung? Goat meat?" His eyes narrowed as he looked at Garmansder. "Who are you, and why are you telling me this?"

"I am Garmansder of Luskan. I'm a mercenary, hired by this fool to be his guard. When I found out what he was up to, I thought I'd get a better price from the Zhentarim for his head than anything the Bedine-or he-might pay me." He shrugged. "So here he is for you to play with."

Lieutenant Thass crouched by Avarilous's head and stared thoughtfully into the merchant's eyes, which were reddened from the blowing sand of the desert.

"So the little Bedine fools are getting worried about what we're doing here," he said, as if to himself. "Good. Good. Fear will feed on itself. Especially when I send their spy back to them in a basket, or several baskets." He chuckled. "Perhaps they'll pass on their concerns to the Shadovar, who will be more willing to deal with us.

"What's that?" He bent his ear near Avarilous's cracked, bleeding lips.

"Shadovar… would never… deal with Zhentarim… crush you first." The words dropped like tears in the dust.

The lieutenant chuckled and rose to his feet. "Well see, fool."

He twisted his hand, and Avarilous's body was jerked to its feet. The rope binding the merchant flew from Garmansder's hand to that of the lieutenant.

"Drashka! Get your lazy carcass out here this instant, unless you want to wear your entrails for a necklace!"

From a shelter farther within the encampment, another guard emerged cautiously and saluted. "Yes, sir?"

"I'll take this scum to Commander Hesach's tent. The commander will want to talk to him in a few minutes, so you'd better have someone bring the instruments. I'll keep an eye on him until Hesach's ready-he's slippery as an eel. And Drashka…" He tossed the end of the rope to the lieutenant. "I've got my eye on you. You watched those two idiot guards drink on duty and did nothing to stop them. Let me catch that sort of thing again and you'll be scorpion bait!"

Garmansder cleared his throat loudly. The lieutenant glanced at him.

"Ah, yes. Your reward."

Thass fumbled inside his robe for a minute and produced a pouch, tossing it to the tall man. Garmansder looked inside it and opened his mouth to argue when he caught the lieutenant's icy eye and thought better of it.

He swept the pouch out of sight and said, "I'd like a bed for the night."

Lieutenant Thass grunted and turned to the guard. "Drashka, take this fellow and find him a place to sleep, but be sure he's on his way tomorrow at first light." He looked at Garmansder with narrowed eyes. "After all, a traitor might find the habit of betrayal hard to break. Perhaps it might be simpler to return two traitors to the Bedine."

Garmansder shook his head vigorously. "Trust me, my lord. I'm heading west and south for friendlier lands, where an honest mercenary can make a living. I've no desire to get mixed up in the affairs of wizards-whether Zhentarim or Shadovar."

The lieutenant's shout of laughter was tossed over his shoulder as he stalked toward his tent.

Left alone, Garmansder and the guard eyed one another with the cautious looks of two dogs circling before a fight. The mercenary dug into the recesses of his robe and produced a stoneware bottle that sloshed pleasantly with liquid.

"Raki, lifted from the Bedine. Know somewhere we can share it in peace?"

Avarilous, bound to a crude chair, sat facing Commander Hesach across a rough wooden table. The Zhentarim commander was stocky, running toward fat. His black robes stretched tight across his ample belly, and his face was pitted and scarred, creased with lines that the harsh candlelight of the tent emphasized. He paced about a table, in the center of which were a variety of implements. Their purpose the merchant needed no one to explain. Despite their disconcerting presence, however, his face was composed, and he spoke calmly.