Sandstorm by Megan Derr

horse brought. I want to go for a ride. Alone."
    "Alone?" Wafai repeated. "My Sandstorm Amir, I cannot permit such a thing."
    "It's not for you to permit or forbid," Sahayl said, smiling faintly, the expression painfully sad behind the blood and bruises covering his face. "I need some time alone. I'll be back, I promise."
    Wafai grimaced but nodded. "If you are not back within a day, my Sandstorm Amir, I will come and drag you back myself."
    "I will return. We have to figure out how to get around my father's orders, and plan what to do about the problem of the impostors - even if no one else believes us. I'll be back shortly. I just…need some peace." He slowly and painfully mounted Bloodmoon, then with a last nod turned and rode out of camp.

    Eight
    "Isra, Isra, whatever am I going to do with you?" Jabbar shook his head and sighed. "A simple scouting mission and you have quite neatly managed to worsen matters."
    Isra glowered at the food he was picking apart. "I ruined nothing. Ghost creates their own problems. I had every right to act as I did."
    "No, nephew, you did not." Jabbar sighed again. "Attacking Cobra was unwarranted. When will I finally knock all the sand out of your head? When will you listen to me? From what you have told me, there was a chance for an alliance --- at least a brief one. Yet you tried to kill not only the Cobra Sheik but also the Ghost Amir. If you had succeeded, we would have had both Tribes out for our blood and I think we have enough problems as is!" Jabbar looked at him. "Is that what you want? Would that make you happy, Isra? A massacre?"
    "No, honored Uncle," Isra said. "I merely saw a threat and sought to exterminate it."
    "The only threat you need concern yourself with is your own head," Jabbar said. "My orders were to scout. If you had stuck to that, instead of seeking a fight, you might have been surprised. Not everyone is out for blood."
    "It was the Ghost Amir!" Isra said, slamming his fist down on the table.
    "You attacked Cobra first," Jabbar reminded him, unmoved by the show of temper.

    "Fox was slaughtered by a group of men bearing what we all thought were Cobra marks,"
    Isra said, but quieted down. "I saw that encampment, how brutally those men were wounded.
    Did any…?"
    Jabbar shook his head, looking grim. "They all died of their wounds. I wish I knew how to send word to Fox." He sighed again. "More importantly, you said they mentioned intruders in the desert?"
    "Yes," Isra said reluctantly. "He seemed to share our thoughts that someone is purposely setting the Tribes against each other."
    "Interesting," Jabbar murmured, staring into his dish of dark wine. "Ghost has noticed the same thing." He slid a glance at Isra. "A pity we cannot speak of the matter to them."
    Isra turned away, glaring across the tent. "Like we can trust anything a Ghost might say."
    "Why do you hate them so much?"
    "Have we not always hated Ghost? They are the most brutal Tribe in the desert - look at how their Sheik behaved when we attempted to establish peace! Yet you sit here and reprimand me for trying to kill their Amir?" Isra buried his face in his hands, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling at it in frustration.
    "When I was a child, my father was killed in a battle against Ghost. My mother did nothing but weep for days and days. I tried to comfort her but what does a boy really know about anything? I told her father had died fighting, that it was noble, but she only cried that much harder. I didn't understand. We were supposed to fight, I thought. Even so young, I was already familiar with the basics of swordsmanship, other arts of war…" Jabbar sighed softly, and held up a hand in warning when Isra tried to speak. "I am one of the best warriors in this village and for years that fact made me happy. I could fight. Defend. Be a brave warrior just like my father, and gain revenge for his death."

Jabbar fell silent a moment, and poured more wine. "Then, when I was not much younger than you are