Sandstorm Read Free Page A

want to use that power to gain control over as many Tribes as could be located and made to obey.
    Sahayl was still hoping to prevent that, somehow, but for now he would focus only on obtaining peace with Falcon.
    Sheik Hashim gave another small bow. "We go in circles with our fighting, Sheik Jabbar. I see no point in continuing the struggle. An alliance would be more beneficial than hostilities."
    "Hostility is the way of the Sands," Jabbar said, unmoved. "It is also the way of the Crusher."
    He slid his eyes to Sahayl. "Nor do I trust that the Sandstorm seeks peace."
    It was only the thought of what would happen to him if he did that kept Sahayl from rolling his eyes. His nickname had spread out across the Sands, but the reason for it had been lost to them. Only those who had raised him and grown up beside him knew that he had been called thus as a child because he was forever causing messes and losing things.
    Everyone else seemed to think it had more to do with his fighting style. It helped the Tribe, and had once made his father happy. Otherwise he would be glad if no one but Wafai ever said it again. He stared back at Jabbar for several seconds, then respectfully dropped his eyes, head dipping politely. When Jabbar shifted attention back to his father, Sahayl allowed his gaze to wander.
    Some of the men he recognized; familiar faces from skirmishes that had not ended as bloodily as most encounters. Others he did not.
    His gaze landed on a man to the far right, standing just behind the rest of the men on Jabbar's right side. That one he did not recognize, but he knew him on sight anyway from the descriptions of his men.
    Slight build, obvious even under the disfiguring robes, an array of feathers and medallions that seemed completely random, though a few Sahayl had started to pick out as possibly marks of battle. This man had few of those, but that did not really matter. It was his eyes.
    Eyes that his men were always describing. They had not exaggerated.
    As blue as the sky, startling and bright in a place where shades of brown were prevalent.
    Western eyes, set against skin that was definitely not Western. That dusky gold color, only hints of it visible above the mouth-covering, was something no Westerner would ever achieve.
    They were beautiful eyes.

    He was snapped to attention by the too-familiar sound of growing tension in his father's voice. Until the blue eyes, he'd been listening to the negotiations just enough to keep apace.
    He wondered what crucial bit he had missed and cursed himself .
    His father's anger built quietly, so quietly that only those who knew him well could anticipate when he would finally lose his temper. Sahayl stifled a sigh and twitched his fingers at his side. The movement was slight, little more than a show of restlessness in having to stand for so long. But Wafai would know the signal immediately, and would sign to the others. The men would be on guard.
    Sahayl curled his fingers back into a loose fist and sent up a silent prayer that his father would not ruin everything. It had taken every ounce of strength he had to wear his father down, convince him that the idea to reconcile had been Hashim's idea, get him to believe that reconciling with the Falcon would get him more power faster than simply trying to kill them.
    What tipped the scale, he didn't know, but suddenly his father exploded into action, sword drawn even as he hurled epithets in retaliation of a slight that was probably all in his head.
    He should have paid closer attention! Though he knew he could have paid all the attention in the world, and it would have done nothing except to show just how unstable the Sheik of the Ghost Tribe truly was.
    The sound of a sword being drawn filled the oasis, and Sahayl shoved his father aside as steel flashed, catching the blade against his own barely in time. Someone - he though the Falcon Sheik - barked out a command for no one to move, for his opponent to cease, but his opponent ignored