Z.L. Erikson

------------------------ Originally written August 10th, 2025 ------------------------

(These events happen concurrently with Chapters 82-85)

Iuven and Quintus formed up back-to-back as the bandits slowly spread out, taking advantage of their numbers and the space provided by the open desert. Two against four were not good odds, all other things being equal, but the pair of them were Harenae-trained soldiers. Knights whose shields and spears gave them an offensive and defensive advantage against their knife-and-sword wielding assailants.

The torches Iuven and Quintus discarded sputtered in the sand, their flames fading. Darkness encroached.

“Don’t be stupid, kiddos,” the speaker for the bandits drawled in the failing light. “This don’t need to get nasty.”

“Just give us your helmets and anything else you got that’s valuable,” another chimed in with a deep rasp.

“Don’t believe them,” Iuven whispered, the tip of his spear tracking one man while he kept his shield toward another.

“They won’t want to leave witnesses,” Quintus agreed behind him in a matching stance.

The bandits started moving faster, moving from side to side, dashing in closer then backing away.

They're testing our defenses, Iuven thought as he thrust his spear toward one of them, forcing distance.

A clang of metal behind him; a man with a curved sword swung at Quintus's shield. A longsword flashed in the corner of his eye. Iuven snapped his spear sideways, knocking it away.

Someone kicked sand at the pair of Harenae Disciples. It sprayed against the side of Iuven's face and almost got in his eyes. Quintus had been the target and was momentarily blinded by the grit.

Another charge. The man with the curved sword got the edge of his blade around the tip of the spear and tried to pull it from Iuven's grip. Instead of fighting it, Iuven stepped into the pull and pushed the weapon forward, nearly gutting the man and forcing him to back off.

“Gah!” Quintus cried. Iuven looked over his shoulder and saw the man with the knife had his friend by the hair, the edge of his weapon against Quintus’s neck.

“One more step and I’ll open his throat!”

“Wait!” Iuven yelled, stilling the man’s blade. With knots in his stomach, Iuven slowly put his spear and shield down in the sand, removed his helmet, and pulled the bag of coins Fariba had given him out of his cloak. He held the bag out with one hand and raised the other in surrender while kneeling in the sand.

“Here, just let him go.”

“There’s a good lad,” the man with the curved sword said, getting close enough to take the coin bag. He shook it and nodded his head. “Might be enough here to square us with the Vultures,” he told the others while backing away.

Another man came up and took Iuven’s weapons but the guy with the knife still held the weapon’s edge threateningly close to Quintus’s throat. The tense silence was cut only by the light jingle of silver being counted as the man with the curved sword held one of the torches aloft.

“It’s all silver!” he said with a hearty chuckle. “We’ve more than enough.”

“Won’t be needing these then, will we?” The guy with the straight sword pointed at Iuven with his blade. The young man’s life flashed before his eyes as the swordsman got closer.

"Don't see why-" The leader froze, squinting at one of the coins. He flicked it in his fingers, turned it to the light. "Hold on."

“What’s that?” the man with the knife said, pulling Quintus’s blond curls and bearing more of his neck. “These kids got gold? Think this one’s got more?”

“I don’t!” Quintus said warily.

“This ain’t an ordinary piece,” the man said, squinting at it and then at Iuven. “Where’d you get this?”

“What is it?” one of the others asked.

“It’s a Shen merchant token.”

“For real?” The man holding Quintus lowered his blade from his captive’s neck but kept a good hold on him.

“Got the groove here and everything.” The bandit stuck the torch down in the sand to stand it up and pressed the gold coin against the edge of his sword. He twisted and bent it against a cut in the gold Iuven had noticed but didn’t think much about before. After a couple of moments of work the coin snapped in two along the line, forming two jagged pieces.

“Let’em go, lads.” He pocketed one piece and dropped the other back in the bag of coins, tied it up, and brought it back to Iuven. The other men released Quintus and returned their spears, shields, and helmets, setting them in the sand at the boys’ feet. They backed up far enough to comfortably put their own weapons away as their leader held out the bag of coins to Iuven.

“No hard feelings, boys,” he said as Iuven took the money back. “Just trying to make a living out here. We can make it up to ya, right?”

Iuven was confused. He looked at Quintus, whose mouth was drawn in a thin, grim line but his eyebrows were knitted together, just as perplexed. They picked up their things, feeling more comfortable armed again.

“You were goin’ to the boneyard, right?” one of the other men asked. “How’s about we escort ya? Keep anyone else from tryin’ anything stupid?”

“No, I think-” Iuven began.

“That’s a damn good idea!” the bandit leader said, reaching out and clapping Iuven on the shoulder. “Stick with us, boys, and we’ll make sure you get a grand tour.”

“Dragon boneyard’s a real nice place,” the man who’d been holding Quintus at knifepoint said, taking the torch out of the ground and leading the group. "I met my husband there."

------------------------ Originally written August 3rd, 2025 ------------------------

(These events happen concurrently with Chapters 82-85)

Iuven woke to wide-eyed excitement. His dreams of dark caverns faded, as he performed his ablutions with more pep than usual. Tonight, he would be meeting Quintus again, and together they would be seeing dragon bones!

The sun was just setting when he made it to the oasis. He would have been there sooner but a brief detour to let Anatu and Cass know where he was going had been extended by the generosity of Fariba of Shen.

He found Quintus sitting atop a large rock by the oasis.

“Salve!” the curly blonde greeted, raising his hand. Iuven returned the greeting and the two embraced as comrades. “Come! We have to hurry if we want to travel with the others.”

“Others?” Iuven had thought it was only going to be him and Quintus that night.

He followed his new friend to the edge of the underground town and up the shallow spiraling path to the surface. At the top, a half-dozen people were lighting torches and mingling. Four of them wore white robes like Iuven and Quintus - fellow Disciples of Flame - though none bore ornate metal helms like the two young men sported. Two of them, a tall old man and a short young man, wore plainer robes of dingy gray and pale brown.

The younger man’s face was exposed but the older man had a cloth around his mouth and nose. Only the long white beard spilling out beneath it marked him as the elder. He handed his torch to the younger man and clapped his large hands three times to get attention.

“We are leaving now!” his voice boomed, echoing around the tunnel. “The boneyard is a two hour walk away at my pace. We will arrive in two hours. We will stay there for two hours. We will return here after two more hours of walking. You will stay in sight of my torch at all times. I am not your jailer, but the group will not come look for you if you wander off. I will not come look for you if you wander off. This is not a joke.”

Iuven and Quintus lit their torches from some of the other Disciples and followed the group out past the grass-anchored dunes surrounding Nihimlaq. The pair of them were the only ones armed in the group; their spears in their main hands while they held torches in the other, their shields strapped to their backs.

“Not likely to encounter danger, I guess,” Iuven murmured in Haranese.

“The biggest danger in the desert is getting lost,” Quintus agreed. “But it never hurts to be too cautious. It’s why my family travels in two parts.”

“Two parts?”

“My mother and three older brothers left in a caravan two days ago. Tomorrow, my father, my younger sister, and I will follow in the next caravan. We will see them again at the Interchange the day before they depart to the capital, and we will follow in three days again. Should the worst happen to either of our groups, the family will continue.”

“Your father is a wise man,” Iuven noted. He could read the layers in the strategy as well. A three-day gap would allow danger to pass and survivors to find the others before dehydration claimed them.

The conversation turned to less ominous topics. Myths of dragons and the ancient forest they’d dwelt in. Quintus told Iuven the legend of ‘One-who-is-all’ who blighted the land upon death, turning the forest into Desheret. Iuven had never heard such stories.

“The Deshereyans forbade such jargon,” Quintus said. “But the legend has been passed down my family since the conquest of Harenae a thousand years ago.” He removed his silver helm and turned it upside down. Holding it at an angle in the torchlight, Quintus pointed out that the lion engraving - a common element on most Harenae helms, often uniquely embossed for a family - was also a dragon.

“Wasn’t it dangerous to wear that under imperial rule?” Iuven asked.

“All of the men in the Fortis family have the second name ‘Gladius’ to remind us to keep our blades sharp.” Quintus said with a smirk. "The stories have never been heard by those who would endanger them."

"And you trust me not to endanger them?"

Quintus shrugged. "I like you. And the Empire is fallen, if the stories are to be believed. The Disciples of Flame have been called to Dehenet so I believe them."

"You can believe the stories," Iuven said. "I came from Dehenet. I've seen the city ruins."

"Well that's good news, isn't it?" a voice piped up behind them in Haranese. The two young men spun around and raised their spears simultaneously. Figures of shadow lurked just beyond the edge their torch light. In the common tongue, he continued, "Hear that, boys? No more empire. Means no more guard patrols coming out this way and making us pay all those fines."

"More like making us pay for their protection racket," a deeper voice said, slowly drawing a sword. "Between them and the Vultures, it's been so hard to make an honest living robbing."

Iuven and Quintus dropped their torches and pulled their shields off of their backs. Without time to properly strap them to their forearms, they had to make do with the hand grips. Iuven glanced over his shoulder but couldn't see the torches of the group any more; only a distant glow around the dunes that may or may not have been twilight.

"Look at these kids," one of the four men said with a laugh. They think they're gonna scare us off with their pointy sticks and shields. We ain't scared of dress-up soldiers, boys." With a flick of his wrist, a knife slid into his hand.

------------------------ Originally written July 27th, 2025 ------------------------

Anatu took a slow, shaky breath. The warm din of the crowded tavern faded, replaced by a cold silence. They stood up, a weightless feeling, detached from their physical movement, as they walked away from the table. The blue and indigo collection of fabric that was Fariba of Shen said something, but all Anatu could hear was a faint, high-pitched ringing.

Their grandfather smiled at them, holding the clay vase. “It’s quite good,” he said, turning the sun-dried decoration around in his hands. “What will you put in it?”

“Flowers!” Anatu said excitedly.

The old man nodded and looked over to the throne room’s garden alcove. He pointed while giving the vase back to Anatu. “Go get a bunch of the purple ones.”

They stood before the door to Cassandra’s room, no sense or recollection of leaving the tavern or climbing the stairs. The door was locked. They pulled on the handle again. And again. And again. And again.

Anatu knelt on the floor of their room, an isle of concentration surrounded by a sea of parchment. Architectural diagrams, measurements of shadows at different times of the day, bills of materials, everything they needed to complete the Interchange.

“Still awake at this hour?” The Emperor asked, entering their room with three torch bearers for light. The candles Anatu had been using to read seemed wholly inadequate by comparison.

“I’m almost done,” Anatu said with a yawn. “Just need to figure out how to get the roads to connect with the main structure.”

SMASH! The door to Cassandra’s room flew open. Anatu dropped the chair they were holding -- not remembering picking it up, or where they got it -- and entered.

They knew what the box looked like, more or less. They’d seen it a few days ago. Where would Cassandra keep it?

The old man looked at the maps briefly. “Why not have the roads curve around into the entrances you desire?”

Anatu rubbed their eyes and shook their head. “No, people don’t like to travel in non-straight lines if it’s not significantly easier. They’ll just get off the road and… anyway, it’s not about making it take the shape I want. I need to find the right way to do it.”

“Hmm, I don’t know such things. But you will ruin your eyes in this darkness.”

Their grandfather gestured and one of the torch-bearers dragged a floor sconce closer to where Anatu knelt. They put their torch in it and retreated out of the room.

“There,” the Emperor said. “Don’t ruin your eyes so young. And try to get some sleep. Good ideas come after a good night’s rest.”

“What are you doing!?” Kebb’s voice was low, but urgent. Anatu looked up from the ruined straw mattress in their hands. The former slave’s face was a mask of concern and confusion.

Why is he confused? He knew about it this whole time.

“I’m looking for it,” they said, pulling more straw out of the mattress.

“For…?”

“His head.” Anatu tossed the ruined mattress aside and surveyed the room. The bed was destroyed, the table overturned, two of Cassandra’s bags emptied of their contents. Where else could they look? The box wasn’t small. It was big enough to hold… to hold…

Anatu joined the Emperor under the awning as he surveyed his grandchild’s work.

“You have once again outdone yourself, Anatu,” the Emperor said, patting them on the shoulder. “And you made it so tall in so short a time.”

“I used a perspective trick I learned from the buildings in Shen,” Anatu said. “The bricks get smaller the higher they are, so it looks taller than it is.”

“Stop this at once!” Kebb hissed, grabbing Anatu’s arm and pulling them away from the pile of cloth Anatu was digging though. They spun and swung their arm, catching the side of his face with their nails. Blood ran down his cheek like red ink and Kebb reeled back, pressing his hand to the scratch.

“I need to bury him!” Anatu yelled, their face burning with pain and rage. All these days, their grandfather’s head had been right there. The damned rebel Council and that witch in charge of it all had sent them. To escort their grandfather’s head!

"There's nothing to bury," Kebb said. "He was burned, along with the rest of them!"

They glared at Kebb. He looked fuzzy through the tears. Though little blood was spilt, everything they saw was red. “You knew!” Anatu lunged through the fog of hatred at Kebb. Their fingers wrapped around the man’s throat and squeezed. He slowly pried their grip free; no amount of rage could fully close the gap between a lifetime of laborious servitude and a lifetime of being served.

“Calm… down… now!” he grunted with effort.

Anatu swung their head forward, connecting with his nose. He lost his grip and balance. As Anatu grabbed his neck again they both fell to the floor, Kebb sputtering through the blood and pain as he fought back.

Anatu wanted him to die. They wanted him to suffer, the way their family did. If they could get a knife they would do the same to him. They didn't care about the fist he was driving repeatedly into their side, or the feeling of a rib bruising. All they wanted was for this bastard to stop talking. To stop moving. To stop-

------------------------ Originally written July 20th, 2025 ------------------------

“I hate Fariba of Shen,” Cass said, her speech slurring and her breath absolutely reeking of wine.

“At the moment, so do I,” Anatu grumbled, turning their head slightly to get out of the noxious fumes Cass was exuding. They were regretting agreeing to Fariba’s request to keep Cassandra company while they ran a ‘quick but vital’ errand.

The merchant departing with haste was a red flag. Unfortunately, by then Anatu had agreed, and didn’t think leaving Cassandra alone in her current state was a good idea. Especially with Kebb there, egging her on.

“Merchants are never to be trusted,” the half-Sammosan said, his tone agreeable.

“Right!?” Cass exclaimed, slamming her cup down on the table with enough force to shake everything atop it and leave a sizable crack in the wood. She winced, then chuckled. “‘Fariba of Shen will pay for that!’,” she said in a mocking imitation of the merchant’s accent.

“Haha, I am most certain they will.” Kebb reached over with a bottle to refill her drink.

“I think she’s had enough,” Anatu said.

“You know what else I hate?” Cass thrust her empty cup closer to Kebb, making him miss the pour briefly. “The Empire.”

“A toast to that,” Kebb said. “Fortunately that is no longer a problem.”

“Hahaha, I know!” Cass’s laughter was bubbly and light. Anatu winced, pinching the bridge of their nose.

“Oh come on, don’ make that face you… you shour-face.” Cass took a sip of wine. “You didn’ like it much either.”

“I disliked elements of it, yes,” Anatu conceded, hoping that a little bit of agreement would appease the drunk and get her off of the subject.

Kebb, on the other hand, seemed delighted about this turn in the conversation. “But you liked other elements, of course,” he said. “What with your lofty position.”

Anatu drummed their fingers and narrowed their eyes at him. Kebb was playing a dangerous game, and Anatu had little choice in the matter.

“Musta been nice,” Cass said slowly, the bubbly tone gone, replaced by a lower and slower one, “bein’ the one callin’ shots. Owning people ‘n not being owned.”

“That was one of the things I disliked about how the Empire was run,” Anatu said, heat rising in their face while trying to be as clear as they could.

“Hated it enough to betray it at least,” Cass said. “Wonder if you hate anythin’ about how things are now?”

Anatu remained quiet.

“Well,” Kebb filled the silence, “Anatu did swear fealty to Helen and the Church of Flame. Alongside me.”

The dig was obvious. Kebb had been one of Anatu’s slaves before they surrendered to the rebels. Now they were on ‘equal’ footing. The fact that Kebb was assigned to be Anatu’s second-in-command so that he could keep an eye on her was about as subtle as Kebb’s constant reminders that he was their equal now.

“Mmm, yesh, Helen’s great ain’t she?” Cass’s expression warmed. She rested her chin in her hand and looked at Anatu dreamily. “Pretty laugh, pretty smile, pretty hair. Kinda like your hair, jush, yanno, longer.” She reached out to run a finger through Anatu’s hair, the longer half of which had grown down past her ear.

Anatu politely, but firmly, pushed her hand away.

“Please, don’t touch me.”

“Please don’t flirt with them either,” Kebb said, rolling his eyes.

“‘m not flirting.” Cass pouted, narrowing her eyes at Kebb. “You jealous? Sorry but you’re not my type.”

Kebb buried his face in his hands. “This is unbecoming of you,” he grumbled.

“You’re the one who keeps giving her wine,” Anatu said, thinking that Kebb could do worse than someone like Cass.

“Because she’s thirsty,” Kebb said, refilling Cass’s glass as though Anatu reminded him. “I am here to serve Helen’s interests, and Cass is certainly one of those interests.”

“Damn straight I am,” Cass agreed. “Kebbs talkin’ good sense.”

“I strive to lead the way Helen would want.”

Anatu clenched their fist. Kebb was trying to sway Cass while she was drunk off her ass. They looked around the tavern for Fariba, wanting to drag Kebb away without leaving the lush alone.

“Where’s that damn merchant?” they muttered.

“They’s out getting stuff for the box,” Cass groaned, laying her face down on the table. “Broke it the day ago. Fire, tripped.”

“You broke the box?” Anatu and Kebb asked.

Cass nodded with her cheek on the table. “Goop leaked out. Gotta need more goop. Farba of place knows to make it. Made it first time ‘pparently. Says can heal it.”

“Heal what?” Anatu asked.

“Box. Heal it. Fix it, I mean, whatever.” She sighed and tried to sip from the now empty cup. “Stupid head, rotting without the goo.”

"Head?" Anatu had been surprised to hear about 'goo' in the box, but a head? Just what was Helen delivering to the general in Chol?

The only head worth transporting so far, the only message worth sending, was one Anatu wouldn't - couldn't - think about.

"Shhhhh," Cass held her finger up against Anatu's lips. "Secret. Can't tell anyone the guy's head's there."

"You need to stop talking now," Kebb said, grabbing Cass's wrist. "Come, let's get you to bed."

"I told you you're not my type." Cass effortlessly pulled her arm from Kebb's grasp and grabbed the bottle of wine. "Anatu knows already."

"They do?" Kebb looked sidelong at Anatu, sweat forming on his brow.

"Of course I do," Anatu rolled with it. "I want to know what's wrong with the... head. Is it still recognizable?"

"Mmmhm," Cass grunted. "Been flipping it, keeping it gooey. Still the Emperor's face."

A heavy weight fell in Anatu's stomach. Cass mentioned Fariba and the Shen merchant was back at the table, but they didn't hear whatever was being said.

------------------------ Originally written July 13th, 2025 ------------------------

Cass allowed Fariba of Shen's steady hand to guide her, as she struggled to wrap her head around the logistics of getting everyone ready to leave on such short notice. Time was of the essence, and they still had two weeks of travel, at least, until they’d make it to Keygroph. They would also need a day to resupply and rest the animals in Salach along the way.

It wouldn’t be the worst idea to leave with a light complement if needed. I can leave Anatu and Kebb here to manage everyone else, she thought.

Glaukos would have to come. Cass couldn’t bear to lose track of him again. She’d prefer to bring Kher so he could cook, and Maar for her medicinal knowledge. Mica would be good as well.

“Helloooo? General?” Fariba’s query cut through Cass’s thoughts and brought her back to the moment.

They were in the tavern. Fariba was waving a hand in front of her face. Cass brushed their arm aside.

“What?”

“Fariba was asking what it was you would like to drink. And eat! Tonight, your care is Fariba’s greatest concern.” They made a grandiose gesture, throwing their arms out as if to encompass the entire cavern.

“Er, thanks, but I need to---”

“Eat!” Fariba said loudly, clapping their hands. One of the bartenders came over with a tray of bread and cheese. He also set a bowl of a gross-looking brownish-amber sauce on the table.

Fariba said something in Deshereyan and handed the bartender a few coins while she sniffed the sauce. It smelled amazing --- sweet and savory --- even if the look was off-putting. Runny, like honey, but with chunky bits suspended in it.

“It goes amazing with the cheese,” Fariba said, breaking off a chunk from the heel and dipping it in the sauce.

Cass followed suit. It was pretty good; the chunks turned out to be garlic and she tasted some unfamiliar spice, with a warm, peppery flavor. It tasted awful with the texture of the cheese, though, and the feeling of it sliding down her throat made her shudder involuntarily. She dipped the bread in it instead, earning a ghastly expression from Fariba.

“The sauce is for the cheese!” they exclaimed, abhorred.

“What?” Cass shrugged, taking a bite of the saucy bread. “Tastes great.”

Fariba gaped at her and buried their face in their hands, shaking their entire body vehemently. “What passes for taste in Sammos!?”

They exhaled in frustration, looked over to the bar, and waved their hand. The bartender nodded and, after pouring a drink for someone sitting nearby, came over to the table with two bottles.

“Here we are,” Fariba said. “The perfect thing to liven the mood.”

“Okay, one drink,” Cass said, “but then I need to go find everyone.”

“Cassandra, you forget yourself.” Fariba poured the red wine into one of the clay cups. “You are a general.”

“I’m not a-”

“And you delegate these things to others. You sent the little one after the young one already.”

“Mica and Iuven.”

“Yes, precisely! Now you simply send another of your underlings out to find the rest while you strategize.”

“They’re not my ‘underlings’,” Cass said with a sigh.

Fariba set a small box on the table. They pulled a checkered board out and set several small figurines on it while Cass dipped more bread into the garlic honey.

“This is shatranj,” they said. “A game of strategy and planning.”

“Okay.” Cass went for more bread but Fariba pushed the plate away and handed her the cup of wine instead.

“I want to teach you this game.”

“What? Why?”

“You need to strategize,” Fariba said while picking up one of the pieces. “You have your friend with his army on the way.”

“Cit,” Cass nodded, “and it’s my army.”

“How can you have an army if you are not a general?”

Cass narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like you.” She drank the wine.

Fariba smiled. “Fariba does not do what Fariba does to be liked. Now, this piece-”

“Hey! Kher!” Cass spotted the rotund Shen cook working his way through the growing night crowd. His beard full of colorful beads clacked and danced as he ambled over to her.

“Cassandra!” he said jovially. “Are you feeling well? In the morning you were drinking so much that I had figured you to be out of commission for much of tonight."

"Hair of the dog," Cass said, finishing her cup of wine. She set it on the shatranj board for Fariba to refill and continued, "Hey, I need you to find everyone and bring them back. We're leaving tonight."

"Tonight?" Kher's eyes were wide. "But, Cassandra, we need time to-"

"As soon as we can get everyone and get the supplies we need. Anyone who wants to stay can. Kebb and Anatu will stay behind to-"

"Ah-ah-ah," Fariba interrupted, clapping their hands. "Cassandra, allow me." They bowed their head toward Kher, who rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Kher, please continue your shopping as you were intending. I will assist Cassandra with her task of gathering others."

"Hmph." Kher grunted. "Cassandra, I shall endeavor to ensure that we are well provisioned for an early departure."

"Thanks," Cass said, lifting her refilled cup to him in a quick salute. "I'll see you at midnight."

Kher ambled away and Fariba refilled Cass's cup again. "Now, in shatranj, the objective is to capture the opposite color's Sha-... that is to say, their Emperor." They tapped one of the pieces.

"Okay." Cass reached over and picked up the piece. "Caught him. I win."

Fariba laughed uproariously. "Ahh, Cassandra the Great and Witty. Please do Fariba this one small favor and humor them for at least another drink."

------------------------ Originally written July 6th, 2025 ------------------------

The alley smelt like hot dust and smoke. Cass watched the dim light cast shadows across Mica's grim expression. Fariba of Shen and one of the town guards -- Majal -- looked back and forth between Cass and the small Cholish woman expectantly.

“What does it say?” Cass asked.

Mica dropped to one knee and folded a portion of her white robe over, revealing dark grey fabric. She placed the secret message over it, making the small holes that were burnt into the paper clearer. Majal left to grab a torch from the market, bringing it closer to give Mica more light to read by. Starting with the Cholish letters just beneath what Cit had written, she followed the words with her finger and read aloud.

“‘General, I have bad news.'"

"Oh! Is that how it is?" Fariba scoffed loudly. "Only certain someones are allowed to call Cassandra the Great a 'general'?"

"No, Cit knows," Cass said, shaking her head. "He just refused to obey orders. What's the bad news?"

"'Firstly, don’t come back to Dehenet.'", Mica continued, "'By the time this gets to you, we’ll already be gone.’”

“This person must know your temperament well,” Fariba said, reading over Mica’s shoulder.

“He’s my second-in-command,” Cass said, arms crossed. “Keep going, Mica.”

Mica nodded and continued, “‘The day after you left the Council got impatient with waiting for us all to go home, so they sent a bunch of their candleheads in. We didn’t take kindly to them.’”

Cass chuckled and shook her head, then gestured for Mica to keep going.

“‘That night some priestesses appeared, then started setting things on fire. We've seen those tactics before, but this time we were on the receiving end. After we stopped them, I figured it was time to get moving.’”

“What!?” Cass’s entire body had tensed up. Her face felt feverish. “Those damn, lying, bureaucratic…” Her fists trembled as she searched for words vile enough for the Council.

“Calm down,” Mica said.

“Don’t tell me to ‘calm down’! That fucking Council is sending people to try and burn my-”

“It’s what Cit wrote!” Mica shouted over Cass, pointing at the note. “He says here, ‘Calm down. We’re safe now. I’m writing this from one of the ships we stole.’”

Cit was okay. That was calming. She still wanted to go back to Dehenet and shove that marble table into the Council like she should have the first time she’d met them.

“‘A bunch decided to mingle into the other armies that have been arriving, but most of us took to the river and are heading north.. Some are gonna stop along the way to head home. The rest of us are heading for Chol.’

“‘From there, who knows. Some of us want to march on Keygroph and join up with you. Some are considering going to their homes. I know you’re with some Council loyalists,’” Mica glanced up at Cass but kept reading, “‘and I don’t know what fiction’—he might mean ‘lie’ in context—‘they're feeding you but don’t trust anyone.’”

Cass nodded, hearing Cit’s voice in Mica’s reading. She figured she could trust Mica since everything the letter was saying sounded just like how Cit would tell her. But who else?

Anatu and Kebb, she thought.

“‘I sent word ahead to our friends in Keygroph, if they’ve made it there yet. If you’re reading this in Nihimlaq then you’re making good time. When you get to Salach, or if you’re reading this in Salach, send a response to me at Admokra.’”

Cass frowned. “Where’s Salach?”

“It is the next town between here and Keygroph,” Fariba answered quickly. “About seven days of travel from here. It is on the border between Desheret and Chol. A beautiful town with a massive bridge that spans-”

“Shut up,” Cass said. She looked at Mica.

“That’s all there is,” she said, handing Cass the parchment. Cass took it carefully, not wanting to damage the already charred message. She stared at it for a couple of seconds, as if the Cholish words would suddenly impart meaning to her.

She wanted to grab her camel and ride back to Dehenet immediately, but Cit knew her well enough to warn against that. But the Council needed to be dealt with even if her army was safely dispersed. Helen was still there. Alone. And the Council was ordering her priestesses around now?

Why didn't that hawker give me this before I sent her a message?

She could send another hawk. Would it matter? If the Council intercepted one they'd intercept the other. And whatever message she got back from Helen might just be the Council.

"Cass?" Mica said slowly.

"Shut up!" Cass snapped, rolling up the parchment and grabbing her forehead. "I need to think."

What she needed was her army. She needed Cit. He'd know what to do. He'd have a plan to get Helen out of Dehenet safely.

"Okay, we need to leave," Cass said. "We need to get to Keygroph immediately."

"The journey will be at least ten days," Fariba said, "and that is if we travel at a great pace."

"Then we'll do it in eight." Cass looked to Mica. "Iuven just left to go look at dragon bones, I need you to get him so we can go."

"Will do."

"I know where that is," Majal said. "I'll show you the way."

"And Fariba will help Mighty Cassandra rally her people back at the tavern," Fariba said, gently touching Cass's bandaged elbow. The sudden jolt of pain made her hiss and pull away. The merchant bowed his head. "Fariba's greatest apologies. Come, let us spread the word to your companions. Fariba can look at what wounds you while we celebrate the fidelity of your friend."

"It's not a wound," Cass said, reluctantly following Fariba."It's a curse."

------------------------ Originally written June 29th, 2025 ------------------------

Cass watched the bird vanish up the chimney. Helen would get her message by sunrise, and Cass would have an answer back the day after. That would stop the bickering between egotistical Kebb and annoying Anatu.

Maybe she’ll tell them I’m in charge. she smirked at the thought.

“Name was ‘Cass’, right?” the scarred hawker asked, handing her a scroll.

“Yeah, why?”

“Got a boy in back what knows his letters. Heard your name. Says this came in for ya two nights ago.”

Cass looked at the note then handed it to Anatu. “Can you read this?”

Anatu unrolled the scroll, pinching it gingerly between two fingers. “Sticky,” they muttered, frowning. “It’s from someone called ‘Cit’.”

“He's a good man,” Cass said with a nod, and waited for Anatu to continue.

“Okay, it says… ‘Hi Cass. Hope your escapade is going good.’ His spelling is terrible, by the way. Like an elementary-”

“I’ll thank you to stop insulting my best friend.” Cass crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Anatu to get the point across.

Anatu nodded and looked back at the note. “Um… ‘Things are great here. Lads are going home in batches. See you in Chol. Tell Mica I said’... I don’t know this word but he has a pronunciation next to it that says… ‘da-hoof’? There’s a mark over the ‘h’ sound.”

Kebb, who was reading over Anatu’s shoulder, said, “I think that means you pronounce it with your throat. ‘Da-khoof’?”

“That sounds vaguely Cholish.” Cass took the message out of Anatu’s ginger grip, and they looked very thankful for it. There was very little writing; most of it was blank. She flipped it over to check the back to see if there was more.

“He could have used a smaller parchment,” Anatu said, wiping their hands off on their robe.

“Whatever.” Cass shrugged, rolling it back up. “Anyway, nothing for us to do but wait for Helen to write back.”

“We should-” Kebb began, but Cass wasn’t in the mood to listen.

“I’m gonna go look around town and get something to eat. You two have fun.” She gave them each a pat on the shoulder on her way out the door.

Fariba wasn’t far, just where Cass had left them, and was speaking with Iuven when she returned.

“In case there is a wise merchant,” they were saying, handing Iuven several pieces of silver. “Oh! One more thing.” They fished a gold coin out of their colorful cloak. “This is not to spend. Show it to anyone whom asks you for money and they will know you are a friend of Fariba of Shen. It can save you much coin.”

“Thank you!” Iuven said with a wide smile, quickly pocketing the gifts. Noticing Cass he bowed his head. “Cassandra.”

“Relax, kid,” Cass said, gently tapping the top of his ornate helm. “Going somewhere?”

“I met a friend and he wants to show me a dragon boneyard,” Iuven said. “I was looking for Captain Anatu to tell them-”

“Oh just go,” Cass said, “We’re gonna be here for two more days at least.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Hey have you seen Mica by chance?”

Iuven nodded and pointed. “Yes, back that way. She pointed me here when I was looking for Anatu.”

“Thanks.” Cass headed off across the market. Fariba followed, greeting merchants they passed. Down a side street, Cass spotted Mica in white robes conversing with a guard.

“...no sign there was ever a tent here,” the guard - a tall woman with straw-colored hair that Cass vaguely remembered seeing Mica drinking with the morning before - was saying when Cass approached. “Even for a Seer, that’s unusual. Is there anything else-”

Mica gently elbowed her when she saw Cass.

“Hey, Mica, what’s going on?”

“Just looking into something strange I saw last night,” Mica answered. “Need something?”

“Not really. Cit said to tell you ‘Da-khoof’, or something. Not sure if I’m-”

“Who’s Cit?” Mica asked, stiffening, narrowing her eyes.

“Uh, friend of mine?” Cass was surprised by the intensity in Mica’s shoulders and jaw.

“Where is he?”

“Back in Dehenet.” Cass pulled out the scroll. “He sent me-”

“Let me see that.” Mica snatched the scroll from Cass's hand. She ran her fingers along the paper and smelled it before reading.

"Shit," she muttered, rushing past Cass and Fariba toward the market.

"What?" Cass followed.

"I need salt and lemons."

"Fariba can point you the way," Fariba said, walking surprisingly fast past Cass and Mica. They handed the short Cholish woman a piece of silver. "Salt is over there. Fariba will get the fruit."

Cass stopped following when the two split up, looking each way. "What the hell is going on?"

"Beats me," the guard said, stopping beside Cass. "Majal." She extended a hand.

Cass shook it with a nod. "Cass."

"I know. We met yesterday."

"We did?"

"You were pretty drunk."

Fariba and Mica returned quickly and ran back into the side street. Mica handed a bag of salt to Majal and cut it open. "As soon as the fire starts, pour this on it."

"Fire?" Majal and Cass asked, the latter taking a step back.

Mica cut open lemons Fariba handed her, squeezing juice onto the scroll she'd unrolled on the ground. Producing a piece of flint from her robe, Mica struck it three times with her knife before the sparks caught. The letter exploded into flame for a second before Majal doused it.

"What the hell?" Cass asked.

The parchment was ruined. A few singes around the edges, and much of the paper seemed to have small shapes burnt in it. Mica picked up the scroll and turned it toward the light of the market; the little holes looking more like letters with the light.

------------------------ Originally written June 22nd, 2025 ------------------------

Anatu couldn't stop thinking about the final image of their late dream. Their family... the blood... Cassandra swinging that swordspear at their neck...

“Hey!” the living specter of their nightmare called, drawing Anatu out of their dreary daze. This wasn’t the palace bathroom, they were standing in a market in an underground town in the middle of the desert. Cassandra wasn't holding a weapon at their throat, she was holding a curtain open for them.

“You coming?” she asked.

With a nod, Anatu ducked under Cassandra’s arm and entered the hawkery. The adobe hut was quite rank; white stains tainted every surface. A man with many scars on his shoulders and upper-arms wearing long leather gloves was tending to the hawks as they entered.

“Moment, please.” His voice was deep and gruff and somewhat muffled by a damp cloth wrapped around his face.

There were birds everywhere. No cages of any sort. Just wooden pegs sticking out from every surface possible. Two or three dozen filled with birds; most sleeping, some eating out of little cups hanging beside the pegs.

And excreting.

When the skin-damaged man came closer, Anatu smelled a faint perfume that did little to cover up the odor of bird shit.

He asked, “Names?”

“Cass,” Cassandra answered, “but we’re here to send a message.”

“Aight.” The man held his hand out expectantly. Cassandra arched an eyebrow and looked to Kebb, who pulled out a couple of coins. Anatu forgot how incompetent every Sammosan they met was.

They crossed their arms and said, “He’s waiting for the message.” Then, to the hawker, continued, “We don’t have one ready. Can you write it for us?”

“Don’t know ‘ow to write. Got notes if ya can?” He pulled a basket off of one of the pegs and checked inside of it, scooping out a handful of bird-soiled straw and tossing it on the floor before offering the container to Anatu.

Reluctantly, they took it and looked inside; several thin strips of parchment, a couple of quills, and a vial of ink. They were about to hand the basket to Kebb but thought better of it. He didn’t serve them anymore, and had a vested interest in getting Helen to back him.

Anatu wanted to write the message.

Gross, gross, gross, they thought as they took out what they needed to write. The hawker hung the basket back up as Anatu started the note.

“What are you going to ask?” Kebb asked, stepping around Cassandra to look over Anatu’s shoulder.

“I’m just going to ask the High Priestess who is in charge of this expedition,” Anatu grumbled, inking the quill.

“You should let me write it,” Cassandra said. “Helen will be more honest if she thinks it's from me.”

“Can you even write?” Anatu didn’t mean it as a slight, but they were fairly certain that Cassandra had not been educated as a slave, nor in the last several years of her revolution.

“No, but I can say what you write.” The rebel leader crossed her arms. Anatu noticed how the bicep on the non-wrapped arm bulged, muscles tight with power.

Looking to Kebb, they asked, “Sound agreeable?”

“Let’s hear what you have to say before Anatu starts writing,” Kebb said.

“Alright,” Cassandra said, licking her lips and looking toward the roof in thought. “Dear Helen… the traitors you sent with me are-”

“We’re not traitors,” Kebb argued.

“Technically we did betray the Empire,” Anatu muttered, twirling the quill while waiting for more of their dignity to be drained away.

Cassandra continued, “...are whining about who’s in cha… about who’s second in command. I don’t care but they're fighting like children. Please tell me who's right; Anatu or Kebb.”

She nodded and looked between them both. “Sound good?”

“I don’t feel comfortable writing ‘Dear Helen’,” Anatu said.

“Yeah, but the message is from me, so don’t worry about it.” Cass waved off Anatu’s dismissal.

“Can we change some of the wording, at least?” Kebb asked.

“No, I think it sounds just like I’d talk to her.”

“Fine,” Anatu sighed, putting pen to parchment. “‘Dear Helen,’” they spoke out as they wrote, stopping to prod Cassandra for the wording a couple of times. It did not help that Kebb was leering over their shoulder the whole time.

“Should I sign it ‘Cassandra’ or ‘Cass’?” they asked, when they got to the end.

“I can sign it.” She took the quill and the paper and scribbled down a series of Sammosan letters. Anatu could read the language but Cassandra’s penmanship was sloppy. It almost looked like ‘Shadow’ but it was hard to tell from the angle they had.

Before Anatu could get a look, Cassandra picked up the parchment, blew on it, and handed it back to the hawker.

“Where to?” the man asked while rolling the parchment up and melting wax.

“Dehenet,” Kebb, Anatu, and Cassandra answered at the same time.

“Mmm, lotta birds comin’ and goin’ there. Emperor’s birthday?”

Anatu's stomach dropped. Their grandfather’s birthday was nowhere near, but it would never be celebrated again.

“Nah,” Cassandra said, puffing up her chest. “Emperor’s dead. The Empire is no more and everyone’s free.”

“That right?”

“Surely you’ve seen news come through here?” Kebb asked.

“Don’t know how to read." The hawker shrugged and dipped a seal in the wax, then pressed it into the rolled-up parchment.

"About time, right?" Cassandra asked.

------------------------ Originally written June 15th, 2025 ------------------------

“Here comes your Champion of freedom! Cassandra!” Fariba harangued the evening tavern-goers, as Cassandra descended from the second floor. Grinning, she lifted her hand to wave, but the ever-hovering Kebb slapped her wrist.

“Don’t encourage the drunks,” he muttered, pushing forward through the crowd toward the exit. Cass stuck her tongue out at him but followed along with Anatu.

Fariba moved through the people like water through stone; a comparison emphasized by their layered robes of vibrant blues and purples, and sapphire-studded headpiece, versus the drab greys and browns of the locals or the travel-stained whites of the Disciples of Flame.

“Friends! You seek to depart without acknowledging your good friend Fariba?”

“We’re not departing,” Cass said, “just going to the hawkery to send a message.”

“‘Champion of freedom’, really?” Anatu asked, annoyance plain in their tone.

“No, I like it.” Cass grinned, holding the door for Fariba and Anatu. The evening air was still warmer than inside so she fanned her long black hair out with her arms as they walked.

“The hawkery is this way, if you fancy a quick detour around the oasis,” Fariba said

“We don’t,” Anatu said.

“But the scenery is lovely! And the air-” Fariba kissed their fingers, “so fresh and cooling.”

“I am afraid we have to send a message off as soon as possible,” Kebb said. “Is there a quicker route?”

“But of course! We shall take the most direct path through the market.”

“One minute,” Cass said, walking around the tavern to where the cart was stowed. She pulled her swordspear out and hoisted it over her shoulder.

“What could you possibly need that for?” Anatu asked, arms crossed incredulously.

“There’s a blacksmith somewhere around here, right?” Cass asked, looking at Fariba.

“Of course! On the way to the hawkery we will pass the greatest smithy in all the vast desert,” they answered enthusiastically. “Why, once, Fariba’s cartwheel shattered on a stone and-”

“See?” Cass said. “I need to get this thing sharpened.”

“Shouldn’t you have done that before we left Dehenet?” Kebb asked.

“I would have, but it was in the river when I learned about the mission.”

“Why was it in the river?”

“I was drunk,” Cass said with a shrug, “and we were celebrating the fall of the Empire. I think I promised to promote any soldier who could throw it farther than me.”

“That’s hardly a fair contest,” Anatu muttered.

“We were all drunk out of our minds.” Cass chuckled.

Kebb groaned. “Cassandra, we don’t have time to-”

“I’m just going to drop it off. We don’t need to stand around and wait for them to work. Fariba said it’s on the way, right?”

Fariba nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! We will pass right by.”

“Alright, lead on,” Cass gestured casually with the long, heavy blade and followed.

The market was not so crowded yet as the tavern felt. Vendors were still setting up their stalls now that the heat of the day was breaking, setting up produce and cheeses to be sold. A few early hagglers were out, all locals from the look of their clothing. People who knew the merchants and were likely being given better deals than the traders passing through town.

The smithy would have been easily overlooked by Cass if not for Fariba stopping by an open door in a squat, adobe structure. There was no smoke or heat like she expected as she ducked through the entrance, nearly stumbling as she was immediately confronted with a short set of stairs.

The room was half-buried and several people were moving about in near-darkness; the sound of chains rattling and metal scraping made Cass feel uneasy.

“Can I help you?” a woman carrying a torch appeared behind a wood counter. She set the flame in a sconce as Cass approached, and looked at the swordspear with wide eyes. “If you need us to work on that it’ll be a few hours. We haven’t lit the forges yet.”

“No rush,” Cass said, setting the swordspear point-down in the dirt floor and leaning it against the counter. She leaned on the wood as well and gave the woman a smile; her short, brown hair and strong arms were quite pretty. “I just need it sharpened. Name’s Cass.”

“I know. Fariba of Shen's been talking about you for days. I'm Lena."

"That's a pretty name," Cass said, "for a pretty woman. Short for 'Helena'? You look Sammosan."

Lena rolled her eyes, reaching for the weapon. "Yes, my mother was from Sammos. And I'll be busy all night."

Cass took the hint. "Alright. Be careful with that, it's real heavy."

"Don't worry, I'll be-" Lena tried to lift the swordspear but the weight made her grip slip and it fell to the floor with a clang.

"It's very heavy." Cass said, picking it back up effortlessly and leaning it against the counter again.

"I'm very sorry about that." Lena frowned.

"No harm done. I've slammed it into worse than a dirt floor. I'll be back tomorrow for it."

"I'll be sure it's done before then."

Cass emerged from the smithy to the sight of Fariba playing with some kids in the market. One of them was wearing the ornate blue headpiece from the merchant -backwards, so it covered their eyes - as Fariba spun the child around before releasing them to chase after the other giggling kids.

"About time," Kebb said when Cass was outside.

"Shut up, or I'll shut you up," Cass said, getting tired of Kebb's impatience. "Fariba! Which way to the hawkery?"

------------------------ Originally written June 8th, 2025 ------------------------

CW: Child abuse - Anatu’s mother is going to slap them in a dream sequence

Anatu looked in a mirror, brushing their eyelashes; separating them from the morning grit that tangled them in the night. They wanted to cut the fine hairs short, to make mornings easier, but their mother insisted they were one of Anatu’s ‘prettiest’ features.

They didn’t want to be ‘pretty’. They wanted to be productive. Useful. Efficient.

Anatu rose from the feather-stuffed bed as an unseasonably chilly morning breeze wafted in through the window, and walked across the smooth marble floor.

A box waited for them in the hall. Large, ornate carvings with jewels embedded in it. Passing the pillars on the way to it, they pressed their palm up beside the handprint they made on their last birthday. Barely any growth since they’d turned twelve.

Their twin brother, Horu, slapped his hand onto Anatu’s, the loud clap echoing in the hall, followed close by Anatu’s angry expletive.

“Jerk!” they yelled.

“Hahaha!” Horu tousled Anatu’s short, blonde hair and nimbly evaded them as Anatu tried to grab his long, golden locks. “Don’t worry shorty, you’ll catch up!”

Horu's growth spurt had him almost a head taller than Anatu, and he made sure they were well aware of their difference in height, strength, and speed. Emphasizing the lattermost point, Horu flicked Anatu’s nose, picked up the box, and ran away laughing.

Anatu ran, trying to keep up but their legs were too short. They waddled on stubby appendages down the massive hallway until they were lost among the legs of the statues. Gods and ancestors towered over them; stony glares piercing their soul. Anatu hid behind the base of one and furtively looked around for Horu. If mother found him first, they were both going to be in big trouble.

Turning to find another way past the all-seeing ancients, Anatu bumped into their mother’s legs. She towered over Anatu, holding the pretty box under one arm.

“There you are,” the dark-haired woman hissed, reaching down and grabbing Anatu’s wrist. She lifted them into the air, hurting Anatu’s shoulder. “Little whelp, running around, dirtying your dress! You look a mess!”

As she lifted her hand, Anatu tried to still her wrath. “I’m sorry m-”

Crack

The tent flap flew open and her slave entered with a panicked expression as Anatu was getting dressed, carrying the ornate box.

“What was that?” they asked, grabbing their cloak.

“The rebels broke through the barricade!”

“What? How is that-”

A loud boom shook the ground. Anatu finished pulling their clothes on and followed Kebb out into the sand. A trebuchet was in the center of their camp, shattered across several tents where Anatu’s soldiers were screaming for help.

Shouts rolled over the sand as enemy soldiers swarmed the dunes toward the camp.

“And that was when I had my soldiers surrender,” they said with a sigh, setting their drink down.

“Surrender and join the winning side, no?” the flamboyant merchant from Shen asked, shades of blue and green rippling throughout their layered outfit.

“It wasn’t that fast or simple, but ultimately yes. I was able to spare most of them execution by persuading the rebels that we would join their cause.”

“Ahh! A clever ruse. Fariba of Shen always said that you were the one with the brains of your family.” They drummed their fingers on the box in the middle of the table thoughtfully. “It was a ruse, yes?”

Anatu stared at the box and shrugged. “No? Yes? The rebels weren’t wrong in some of their issues. If I weren’t seventeenth in line for the throne I might have been able to make stronger arguments and changed things, prevented all of this fighting, but…” they sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose. “So what’s in the box?”

“Ah! Fariba will show you!” They stood up and lifted the ornate case, tucking it under one arm, and gestured for Anatu to follow. They walked across the cavernous tavern together and through a marbled archway into a familiar bathroom where blue stone and scented soaps filled the air with memories.

A wet splat under their foot drew Anatu’s attention. The empty room should have been dry, but a puddle of blood spread out under them. It flowed to the center of the room, to a pile of corpses; bodies and heads unceremoniously stacked together.

Their mother’s angry glare, disappointedly fixed on them. Horu’s genial smirk, long hair stained by the blood all around.

“Fariba is excellent with numbers,” the merchant said, setting the box down in the blood. “And counting these bodies… Anatu is the one on the throne now.”

“No…” There was no air in Anatu’s lungs. They couldn’t see anything beyond the bodies. The faces. The blood.

“Don’t worry! Fariba of Shen made a deal with you, and Fariba of Shen always keeps their promises.” The merchant’s attire was no longer gaudy blue and emerald green, but shades of red as the blood spread up from the floor to dye their clothing. “Unless, of course, a better deal comes along.”

A hand clamped around their throat, lifting inexorably. Anatu saw raw hatred boiling in Cassandra’s eyes, her dark hair dripping wet with blood.

“No. More. Empire.” She threw Anatu into the pile of bodies.

Winded and crying with terror, Anatu lifted their hands as Cassandra swung her swordspear toward her neck.

“AHHH!” Anatu screamed as they sat up. Their hair and clothes were matted to their skin with cold sweat. They grabbed their neck; cold, clammy, wet, but their hand was not covered in blood. They checked their chest and stomach; no wounds.

Knock knock knock. "Anatu?" Cassandra's voice was tired through the door. "You okay?"

"Yes!" Anatu lied quickly, not wanting her to come in.

"Alright. We're going to the hawkery as soon as you're up."

------------------------ Originally written May 25th, 2025 ------------------------

Cass woke up with nails digging into her skull. She rolled over and reached for Charis for comfort but found no one. Sitting up to look around the room was a mistake; her stomach lurched in protest, and it was far too dark to see anything anyway.

The thin line of light under the door was another nail behind her eyes. Closing them, she carefully felt around the stone floor with her bare foot to find her clothing. Dressing with her eyes closed was easy enough.

While dressing, her toes also found a large wooden box; its smooth grain silently reminding her that she needed to rotate the head inside of it to keep it preserved. Cass’s stomach churned at the thought, but she knew she had to do it.

Helen only needs me to do one damn thing. Deliver this damn… thing…

Holding her breath against the sickly-sweet stench of the strange concoction, Cass reached in and felt the contours of the former Emperor’s head as she carefully rolled it over. She submerged the tacky, nearly dry side in the viscous substance - shifting it slightly when the angle of the box prevented it from fully being covered - then wiped her hand on the side of her robe.

At least in the dark she didn’t have to see his face again.

Cass left the room - squinting her eyes against the flickering torch in the hall - and carefully managed her way down the stairs into the tavern. The smell of food and alcohol drew her into the dull murmur of the small evening crowd.

The person behind the bar wasn’t the surly woman from the morning before, but a man with a familiar nose and forehead. Cass blinked twice and shook her head - regretting the action immediately - to clear her eyes.

“Cit?”

The man turned to face her. “Ma?”

From this new angle, Cass saw it wasn’t her friend. This guy was a lot older, his jaw was the wrong shape, eyes were the wrong color, and ears were too big. He just happened to have a similarly broken nose to her second in command.

“Sorry, thought you were someone else.”

“Ma?”

“What?”

“He is from Chol,” a chipper voice behind Cass spoke up, making her head hurt all over again. Fariba took the seat beside her and held up two fingers while saying something in Cholish. To Cass, they said, “I took the liberty of ordering us both a cup of wine.”

“Can you order some food too?” Cass asked, rubbing her temples.

“Of course!” Fariba said more to the man who wasn’t Cit.

Cass waited for the wine before talking again. “You’re a morning person, aren’t you?”

“Far from it! Fariba of Shen does business at the end of days when moods are higher and libations flow more freely.” They sipped their wine and held up their cup to Cass. “But today, Fariba of Shen received the greatest of news!”

“Oh?” Cass didn’t really care, but remembered that she needed to send a letter to Helen today. If Fariba knew where the hawkery was then she could butter them up a little while waiting for her hangover to fade.

“Fariba of Shen, Captain of Trades, Consort to the throne, Freer of slaves, Patron of arts, Friend of Cassandra, and-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Cass remembered something from a couple of days ago. “Were you the one who bought the slaves from that camp-”

“The camp at the end of the sandstone highway? Yes!” Fariba reached over and clinked their cup to Cass’s. “Fariba got a very good deal as well. An ace negotiation!”

“You bought them,” Cass repeated.

“Yes. Fariba paid for the slaves, led them here, and then freed them. Fariba also gave them some coin, before you worry. Many have taken up with the white cloaked ones and are going back south but—” Fariba shrugged, “that is their choice.”

“But you left the children there. At the slave camp.”

“An asterisk upon your accusations! Children are expensive.” They put a hand on Cass’s shoulder as she started to tense up. “Cassandra, even Fariba of Shen could not afford to liberate all. Not everybody has an army to back them in their goals, ah?”

“Why not the kids, at least?”

“Again, expensive. Fariba got a good deal buying the old and injured. You wish Fariba freed less?”

“No, I… I don’t know.” Cass finished her drink and waved the flagon for the bartender to come and refill. “So what was your good news?”

“Ah yes! Fariba of Shen now has a niece! The plans for trade have changed and Fariba now intends to return to Shen before six moons have waned. The journey to Chol shall commence as intended but no more detouring east through Harenae. Fariba wants to see the little angel as soon as can be done.”

“Hmm. Congratulations.”

“So,” Fariba asked, their tone suddenly lower and conspiratorial as they leaned closer to Cass. “How is the box?”

“The box?”

“You smell of preservation syrup, is it leaking?” they asked. “Fariba can make more if you need. It would not do for your prize to decay too soon, no?”

“My pri…” Cass narrowed her eyes. “Wait, you know about… about that?”

“Of course Fariba knows. Fariba provided the box and the unguent to your Council. Fariba placed the… contents within. Fariba knows not why you wish to keep such a trophy but is not one to judge such things.”

Cass had to process that for a moment, mostly because her head was still hurting. "So you know what I'm carrying?"

"Yes." Fariba's tone was placating and they spoke slow, as if only now comprehending that Cass was hungover.

"You said you can make more of the... stuff?"

------------------------ Originally written May 18th, 2025 ------------------------

Charis rolled on the straw-filled bedding. It was soft, yes, and the animal hide was delightfully cozy, but they’d become used to the stretched linen and hammock-like curve of a cot. Finding a comfortable position was proving difficult as they tried their side, stomach, then back, then side again.

Cass’s absence wore on their patience. The longer she was down in the tavern, the more she was drinking; the more she drank, the drunker she'd be when she came to bed. They wanted to talk to her about it, but while she was in that state it wasn’t worth the effort. And when she was sober… well, then it wasn’t an issue worth risking a fight over.

They sat up when the sound of footsteps echoed in the stone hall outside the door. It opened and Cass walked in; a telltale stumble to her step. Charis hadn’t seen her drunk many times in the short week they’d known her, but the times she had found enough to get her like this were each the same.

She stumbled forward, eyes unfocused. After one zoned-out step into the room she paused, as though lost, and looked around. Her eyes swept past Charis twice before she closed the door and took a seat at the small table on the other side of the room.

“You got any of that… prayer… shmoke stuff?” she asked, a hint of a slur to her words.

“Incense?” Charis climbed out of the bed and pulled the blanket with them to stay covered. The stone room of the cave-built inn was quite cool; pleasant for sleep but not so much to walk around undressed.

“Yeah, that. I wanna do a prayer.”

“You want… to pray? Are you okay?”

“Wanna talk to Helen.”

“I… er… what?” Charis wasn’t a devout follower of the Church of Flame but they still paid lip-service when around others. Cass, on the other hand, had shown zero interest in anything that deified Helen in both private and public settings

“Kebb did a prayer and saw Helen.” Cass leaned forward on the table with her elbows, resting her chin in one hand. “I wanna see Helen. Help me do the praying thing right, I never did it before.”

Charis nodded and retrieved the ornaments from their bag, setting up the small burner and a pinch of incense along with some wood chips and oil. All the while Cass mumbled and seemed to struggle keeping her eyes open.

“Alright, ready?” Charis asked.

“Yeah.” There was no enthusiasm in Cass’s voice. Charis heard a sad weight to it. Morose, even. They didn’t know what Kebb said to her to put her in this mood, but whatever zealous fervor was in Kebb clearly wasn’t infectious.

“Look into the fire,” they gestured at the small brazier, “and repeat after me.”

Charis slowly led Cass through the evening prayer. They had to adjust it slightly, as it was originally meant to be said before going to sleep at night. Given their desert travel, though, they were going to bed just after sunrise. There was also no view of the sky they could turn to, so Charis just approximated east to ‘face’ the sun.

It was close enough to get the job done.

The low intonations and repetitive sounds eased Charis’s mood. But not Cass’s; She started rushing through the words, tripping over syllables and skipping lines. When Charis stopped saying anything, Cass’s impatience came to the forefront.

“That it?”

“That’s it,” Charis confirmed.

“Well that was fuck all.” Cass stared at the fire a moment longer, her face unreadable. Then her arm snapped out. The brazier clanged against the far wall, bursting into a cloud of ash and shattered stone.

Charis pulled back from the table, looking at the wrecked stonework. They held their breath, sudden tension in every muscle as Cass got up. She walked around the table and crawled into bed, muttering curses under her breath.

With a shaking exhale and a couple of slow, steadying inhales, Charis got up and picked up the mess, carefully using their hand to sweep the shards of stone into a little pile against the wall. Their hands trembled as they brushed aside the last of the rubble. Not just from the fear of stepping on a sharp edge but from the memory of Cass’s voice, flat and furious. They hadn’t expected her to care about the prayer. They hadn’t expected her to lash out either.

They glanced at the bed.

“Zzz.” Cass was sleeping soundly.

I’ll talk to her tomorrow, Charis thought. Satisfied that the room was as clean as they were going to get it, they slipped out and descended to the tavern below.

The crowd had thinned considerably since they’d turned in for bed earlier. The place still smelled of beer and bodies, but the doors were open and the glow of daylight came in on a breeze of fresh, oasis air.

“May I have a cup of wine and a room?” Charis asked the bartender.

“Sure thing” she said, pouring them a drink. She reached under the bar and handed Charis a small plank of wood with an unfamiliar symbol carved in it. A Desherayan number.

Sipping the wine, Charis looked around but saw no familiar faces. Everyone they knew must have gone to sleep already. They glanced back to the stairs and again at the number they were given, drumming their fingers before finishing the wine and asking for a refill.

------------------------ Originally written May 11th, 2025 ------------------------

Cass went to the bar and handed the innkeeper her cup. The woman quickly refilled it with wine and handed it back.

"Wait, I was just..." With a shrug, Cass took the proffered mug. "No sense wasting it." she navigated her way through the slowly thinning crowd to the back of the tavern cavern, and climbed the stone stairs.

A door closed just as she made it to the top, the air from the motion making a nearby torch flicker. Curious, Cass approached the room and looked at the number. It wasn’t the one she’d sent Charis to so she took a step away only to stop when she heard Anatu’s voice coming through the door.

“What is it?”

“I spoke with Helen!” Kebb’s voice was almost a shriek of excitement.

Helen? Cass listened for more but, hearing nothing, pressed her ear to the door.

“... weary and a little tipsy, I think you-”

“I haven’t drunk anything. I came to my room, began my prayer, and the High Priestess herself came to me in a vision! Appearing here as a wraith of fire!”

“The smoke in here has severely warped your mind. You’re dehydrated and-”

“I know what I saw. Your waning faith has been a-”

“Faith? What faith? Kebb, you’ve taken this too far. Cassandra already trusts you enough.”

“This isn’t about your plans. The High Priestess has been blessed by the Flames. You’ve seen her powers.”

“Helen isn’t the only priestess who can call fire from the sky or send it flying at our soldiers. There are dozens in that mad cult who’ve learned those arts.”

“Yes, and they all received their blessings from Helen. She told me our mission has changed and that Cassandra-”

“I know you worship the ground she walks on, but Helen isn’t here. I am, and I-”

“But Helen told me herself that-”

“I don’t care what hallucinations you’ve wrought out of incense and dehydration!” Anatu yelled. The next words they said were much quieter. “Lest you forget, I’m in charge of this mission. Until I receive word from Helen that anything has changed, we-”

“But we have received-”

“We. Keep. Going. As. Planned.” Anatu’s words were so terse that Cass thought she could hear their teeth grinding together.

There was a pause. Cass considered leaving them to argue.

“Very well, if that is how you feel,” Kebb said. “Why don’t we ask Cassandra what she thinks?”

“Why would we do that?” Anatu asked.

Cass pulled the door open, snapping the wood bar on the other side with ease. “Ask me what?”

Anatu had been standing with their back to the door and now stood half-turned toward Cass, eyes wide with surprise.

Kebb appeared equally alarmed with his mouth agape. His face was stained with soot that he’d clearly tried to wipe off with his hands but only left dark streaks across his cheeks, almost like he’d been crying.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Anatu’s brows furrowed together indignantly.

Cass cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. Looking down at the floor, she slid her sandal across the smooth stone. “No eaves here, couldn’t have dropped any.” She shrugged then tapped her chin, exaggerating a thoughtful expression to spite the irate captain. “But I did hear mention of Helen, and my name came up once or twice, so I figured I was part of the conversation and should probably be here.”

Both Anatu and Kebb were quick to answer, talking over each other.

“This is a private conversation-” Anatu started.

“You most certainly are invited,” Kebb said.

“-you aren’t needed-”

“Your input is greatly-”

“Enough!” Cass yelled, stepping between them. She gripped Anatu’s cheeks together in one hand, shutting them up, and looked at Kebb. “You saw Helen. Tell me how.”

The smug grin on Kebb’s face was almost enough for Cass to release Anatu and shut him up instead, but she wanted to hear more.

“Well, I was setting up for my prayers,” Kebb said, gesturing at the table, “lighting the incense, and-”

“Hurry up, I’m tired.” Cass took a sip of her wine.

“-I, er…the High Priestess came to me in a vision. I could see her just as clearly as I see you.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said…er…” the confident glimmer in Kebb’s eye went away. He faltered over his words, averting his eyes. “Something about, um…thanking me for keeping my faith, and that, ah…we need to hurry up on our mission. We are behind schedule, and-”

“Enough.” Cass released Anatu’s face. The captain rubbed their jaw as they backed away, eyes wide and nostrils flared. “You think he’s lying?”

“I think he’s dehydrated and sleep deprived,” Anatu said. “If Helen could talk through fire, why bother with messenger hawks?”

Anatu made a good point. Also, if Helen could speak with anyone, then surely she’d have reached out to Cass by now.

“Okay, tomorrow evening, as soon as we're up, we’ll send a hawk back to Dehenet. This is the first place with a hawkery on the northern trail, right? So it'll make it in a day. She’ll write back tomorrow and we can leave the next day.”

“We’re already behind schedule,” Anatu said. “Waiting two more days will-”

“Will confirm or deny what Kebb is saying,” Cass said. "If he's telling the truth, great, we can get orders from Helen faster. And if he's going crazy then we'll just leave him here to recover."

"Leave me? Listen, I-"

"He can join one of the big caravans heading back to the capital once he's got his wits about him." Cass looked at Kebb, thinking about how best to treat him if he was sick. "We can probably get Fariba to pay for a healer, if Maar doesn't have any suggestions."

Cass wasn't sure if Kebb going mad or telling the truth was better. She wanted to see Helen again, but that'd mean she hadn't reached out to her.

"Cassandra!" Kebb started.

------------------------ Originally written May 4th, 2025 ------------------------

The innkeeper set down a large tray, and Cass grabbed a loaf of decadently soft bread. After weeks of hard, stale fare, the fresh smell and warm texture had her salivating before she took a bite.

“Bah, Desheret has no sense of flavor,” Fariba complained, sipping some stew. “Fariba of Shen requested the finest they could provide. But this?” Their normally-smiling face looked odd with a frown.

“We're in a small village in the middle of nowhere,” Anatu said, skewering a chunk of goat meat with a knife. “And it’s delicious, I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Bland!” Fariba said. “This pitiful stew barely serves to vanquish Fariba’s appetite.”

“Not every meal needs to set your tongue on fire.”

Cass agreed with Anatu on that point, but the food was a bit bland. The vegetables were boiled and had a slightly metal taste, the stew was watery, and the meat was over cooked. But the bread was fresh, and made a great vessel for the rest. Cass hoped they could get some fresh loaves for the road when they left.

“General Cassandra, you have traveled far and wide,” Fariba said. “Vindicate Fariba’s opinion on the matter.”

Cass had to wash down a mouthful of food with wine. “Hey, uh, I’m not actually a General anymore.”

Fariba leaned in close, cocking an eyebrow conspiratorially. “You would make a liar of Fariba?” they whispered barely audible over the din of the other tavern patrons. “While in Nihimlaq, Cassandra is a General because Fariba of Shen declared such. Outside? We can sort out the trivial details.”

“Truth is in the eye of the beholder, right?” Anatu had a snide edge to their tone, but Cass didn't pick up on any directed insults. She decided to let it slide.

“Truth is in the mouth of Fariba,” Fariba said, crossing their arms and grinning broadly. “Falsehoods are bad for business.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t worry about that anymore.” Cass dipped her bread in the stew and took another bite.

“Ohh?” Fariba set their drink down. “And what does General Cassandra mean by such a vastly cryptic remark?”

“Nothing cryptic,” Cass said. “Empire’s gone, so what the point of having money?”

“To procure goods and services, of course.”

“No, I mean-” Cass sighed and set her drink down. She looked around the inn then pointed over at the bar where the owner of the inn was serving drinks. “Did you give them money yet?”

Fariba shrugged. “No, that comes tomorrow.”

“So money isn't needed for goods or services,” Cass said, “it’s just wanted.”

“Yes. To trade for future goods or services.”

“What if I trade a future good or service instead of money?”

“Classic bartering. Fariba of Shen likes it, but it comes with its own problems. Like how does one compare the value of a number of apples for a goat? Far simpler and beneficial for all parties to simply exchange coin.”

“Okay, but what if I offer something less specific, like just a general favor? Something both sides agree is fair.”

“If you have the means to trade then and there, that is fine. But you cannot promise a future service for a present good. What's to stop you from lying?”

Cass shrugged. “I want to stay here in the future, so lying doesn't help me for more than, like, what, one night?”

“Not everyone travels as much as General Cassandra the Great or Fariba of Shen. A liar can make a one-way journey and profit.”

“If you're never going to deal with them again then what's the problem? What's the difference between that and you giving money to a random person out of generosity?”

“Not everyone can afford to be generous, General Cassandra.” Fariba grabbed another hunk of the fluffy bread. “Fariba of Shen is more magnanimous than most.”

“People can’t afford it only because other people want money. If everyone just did favors - like the innkeeper here bringing out food for us - there'd be no need for it.”

“Until somebody greedy works up an insurmountable debt and moves on.”

“The world is more connected these days - the only good thing the Empire did.” Cass pointedly looked at Anatu, who rolled their eyes. “We can send hawks to all surrounding towns and spread the word.”

Fariba sighed and rubbed their temple. “You speak of a market of goods and services, which is what we have. Money simplifies it.”

“I'm talking about lending and favors.”

“Lending needs interest, and favors need repaid.”

“You can provide a service for free." Cass felt her chest tighten in frustration. “Like when I helped you with your cart.”

“And I repaid you by spreading the word of your greatness and generosity,” Fariba pointed out.

“I didn't ask for that.”

“You don't ask for repayment. It is expected; a part of the transaction.”

“Then what about you stealing my camel?”

“No they stole my camel,” Anatu joined, every bit as frustrated as Cass, “and I didn't get anything for it.”

“Did you pay for your drinks?” Fariba asked, “Your room? I say you are getting adequate recompense for lending me your camel. With interest.”

“That's my point!” Cass raised her voice. “These are all things we can just do for each other. Why bother with money?”

“General Cassandra, you make an excellent point!” Fariba said loudly, handing her a cup of wine. Cass looked at her own but saw she had squeezed her hand so hard it had shattered, leaving her hand covered in wine and wood splinters.

“Just going in circles,” Anatu muttered, finishing their drink and standing up with a wobble. “I’m turning in for the day. Cass, try not to kill anyone. Unless it’s Fariba.”

“Hahaha! You rest well, captain. Fariba of Shen will keep the general company.”

------------------------ Originally written April 27th, 2025 ------------------------

Charis hesitated, unsure of where to go as everyone dispersed. Their initial instinct was to follow Cass, but the woman was distracted by Fariba. Kebb’s brief call to prayer and subsequent meltdown did little to provide a sense of direction.

With everyone in a hurry to abandon the caravan, Charis took it upon themself to picket the camels and ensure the cart was safe before going to the inn. They were tired of traveling and ready to sleep in a real bed for the first time in several weeks.

The inn was loud and crowded. A fine place to socialize if Charis had more energy for it. Over the general din they heard a familiar hearty laugh and found Cass sitting with Anatu and Fariba.

“Well, you three look cozy,” Charis said, sidling up beside Cass. The handsome woman wrapped one of her impossibly strong arms around their waist and pulled Charis into her lap, both of them giggling. They could smell the wine on Cass’s breath and taste it on her lips as they kissed.

“We’re just having a chat about how stupid money is and how bad the Empire was,” Cass said.

Fariba chuckled. “Ah, my friend, of the three of us it is only you who thinks that money is nonsensical.”

“And you’re the only one who won’t shut up about the Empire,” Anatu added. Though their posture was dour - with slumped shoulders hunched forward over their drink - Charis could hear a hint of mirth in their tone.

“Yeah but you two aren’t exactly arguing with me!” Cass laughed, taking another sip of wine.

“We’re trying our best,” Anatu muttered.

That dismissive attitude implied Cass was getting to the argumentative stage of drunk - not something Charis wanted to hang around for. They pulled away slightly, utterly dependent on Cass to take the hint.

“Well, as fun as politics sounds, I think I’m going to get ready for bed,” they said. Cass released them after one more kiss and handed them a small block of wood with a symbol on it.

“Our room,” she said. “No idea what number that is but I’m sure you can match the picture on the door.”

“It’s a seven,” Anatu commented, rolling their eyes. “All you had to do was ask.”

Charis didn’t really care one way or another. Ultimately, as long as they could find the right door, the actual number was inconsequential.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” they teased.

“You know,” Anatu said, “you two could probably get more rest if you got separate rooms.”

“Do not be afraid to get as many rooms as you want!” Fariba announced, lifting their own cup of wine. “Fariba of Shen is footing the bill.”

“Someone sounds jealous,” Cass said, waggling her eyebrows at Anatu. “We get plenty of rest together. You’re welcome to join us to learn how to relax.”

“Ugggh,” Anatu groaned, face going red. “I’d rather sleep in the stables.”

“Indeed. See you soon.” Charis kissed Cass on the cheek then followed Fariba’s direction to the back of the inn where stairs were carved into the bedrock of the cavern wall.

The familiar ugly pang of jealousy bore its way into their stomach as they ascended to the second level of the cave.

What does Cass see in that uppity Deshereyan? they thought, searching the doors for the one that matched the symbol they were given.

They were quite the opposite in every way. Charis was tall, strong, had long dark hair and dark eyes, and just enough carefully groomed stubble to accentuate their strong chin. Anatu, on the other hand, was slight and spritely with short, straw-blonde hair and bright green eyes with nary a hair below their eyebrows.

Not unlike Helen, I suppose… Charis hadn’t connected those dots before. Their stomach sank for a moment. Looks aren't everything, they told themself. Cass had flirted with Charis, after all. Invited them to share a tent back at the Interchange.

They opened the door to Cass’s room and entered, thinking about how often Cass and Anatu bickered on the road - but that led to just how often they defended each other from others in the caravan, like Glaukos, Kebb, and Nuut...

A slight movement in the room caught their attention.

An old woman with long, silver hair and laugh lines deeply etched into her cheeks turned from the bed with a pillow in her hands.

“Oh!” She looked surprised. “Beg your pardon, I was just adding some pillows to your room.” She set the one in her hand down and Charis noticed there were now four on the bed; quite the luxury. “Figured you two would like the extra comfort.”

“I… us… two?” Chairs looked over their shoulder to see if Cass had followed them but the hall was empty.

“You have the eyes of someone who doesn’t spend many nights alone,” the old woman said, folding her hands and walking to the door. “Don’t fret. I promise they care for you more than you know.” She reached up and pat Charis on the cheek; her frail fingers uncomfortably clammy.

The smile lines vanished as she frowned and sighed. “She will miss you."

The feeling in Charis's stomach lessened and a strange warmth bloomed in their chest. Smiling, they touched the old woman's hand. "Thank you," they said. She left and Charis closed the door. Taking a deep breath and sighing, they focused on getting ready for bed.

A cloth and water had already been laid out, so Charis began to wash themself, going through their belongings for a knife to better clean up their facial hair. They were going to remind Cass that there would be no need to invite anyone else to bed again while they were there to keep her company.

------------------------ Originally written April 20th, 2025 ------------------------

From her perch atop the adobe stables, Mica watched everyone go their own way. Keeping tabs on her companions while everyone was on the road was easy, but now she needed to be more proactive. She altered her clothing - inverting the white robes and folding the fabric so she was draped in dark, earthen shades of muddy red and brown.

Anatu, Kebb, Cass, and Charis are socializing at the inn, she thought, checking their names off her mental list. She turned a corner into shadow and emerged at the edge of the market. Almost all wore the white Disciples of Flame attire. Her eyes scanned faces for familiar features. Kher…Maar, shopping. She thought she’d seen Iuven but needed to be sure.

Backing away from the torches lighting the market, Mica spun through the shadows, stopping atop a squat adobe hut. She scanned the street below for movement and saw Nuu headed back toward the inn. Not who she was looking for, but still worth tracking.

Three to go.

Glaukos was easy to find at a party in his underwear as he trampled through a pit of sand. Both Iuven and Nuut were by the oasis, the former flirting with another helmed boy while the latter seemed to be making a truce with bandits. Note to self; follow up on that.

With everyone accounted for, Mica decided to head back to the inn where she could keep an eye on the most important member of the group - but the shadows had grown thin under the ambient light of the rising sun. With an irritated sigh, Mica ventured on foot back into town. She wanted to find a corner dark enough to vanish through, but the damned town was shaped like a wheel around the oasis and the light stretched its fingers into everything.

She found a stone hut that had no light within. She walked past it casually, using her dark brown hood to mask the discerning glance she made through the windows. No movement in the shadows and no scent of smoke to indicate a freshly quenched flame. Doubling back around on the next street, she considered simply snapping some of the sticks used to keep people out of the windows.

First, she tried the door. It swung inward quietly. She closed it and turned into the shadows of the hut, emerging face-to-face with an old woman with long, silver hair.

There was a hiss and crack as she struck flint and ignited a brazier, filling the small room with light.

“Tisk tisk tisk,” the old woman tutted, setting down the stones and grabbing a handful of leaves. Tossing them into the fire filled the room with sweet, floral scents.

Mica stepped back and reached behind her to find only stone. There weren’t any doors or windows in the room.

“Calm yourself, Sister-wife of Tzel.”

Hearing the name of her order froze Mica in place. She looked back at the old woman, now tearing strips of bark off of a warped log and adding them to the fire.

“I do not seek a contract,” the woman said, “only offer a warning.”

“Prophet?” Mica’s voice was barely a whisper above the crackle of the brazier.

“Ha! No, no such blessings upon me. I see nothing in the Light or Dark that isn’t there for others to see. But you, Mica, are blinded by your duty.” She sprinkled some powder on the fire, turning the light from a soft yellow-red to a harsh green. “You track friend and foe, following them from place to place but pay no heed to their purpose.”

"Purpose?"

"Your friends in the market, what were they buying?"

Mica blinked. "I don't-"

"Or the woman at the oasis? What was she selling?"

"What? Who-"

"You are cornered and don't realize it."

Mica looked around the room again. There was no place the fire’s light did not illuminate. No means of egress.

“You trapped me."

“Did I?” The woman leaned forward and blew into the brazier. Sparks and smoke cracked through the air. Mica coughed, choking on the fumes as the room spun around her.

Twelve shadows sprung up on the wall.

Mica lashed out with her dagger. The blade clanged off the stone wall.

Eight shadows.

She stumbled into the brazier.

A stabbing pain in her back.

Sudden darkness.

Mica lunged forward and fell through a thick, black curtain out into the well-lit streets of Nihimlaq, and into the arms of an armored woman.

“Woah, easy there,” she said as Mica coughed. Her lungs burned and eyes stung from the smoke. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Mica tried to answer but only coughed hoarsely. She pointed behind her, at a curtain strung up between two adobe huts. The armored woman lowered her to the ground then drew a sword and vanished through the fabric. Mica rubbed at her eyes, trying to get the smoke out of them, when moments later she felt a hand on her back.

“Whoever robbed you fled already,” the woman said. “Take a deep breath. It’s gonna suck, but-”

Mica began coughing after following her instructions. Her chest burned worse than ever and she felt like she was going to retch.

“-yeah, that’ll happen. Gotta cough the smoke up. Do it again then we'll get you standing. My name is Majal, what’s yours?”

“Mi…” Mica coughed again. She tried to stand, was assisted by the armored woman. “Mica.”

“Mica. Do you have any family here? Friends?”

“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse. Talking burned her chest and throat. “Inn.” Another fit of coughing punctuated her sentence.

“Great. We’ll get you to the inn and get you some water. Who's your friend so I can find them?"

"Cass-" cough

Majal stooped to hold Mica's arm over her shoulders. "Take shallow breaths for a bit...there you go, try again."

"-Cassandra. General."

------------------------ Originally written April 13th, 2025 ------------------------

Nihimlaq may have had a unique structure, but towns were not people, and people were the same wherever one went. The abundant presence of white cloaks did not change the nature of the harsh life denizens of Desheret faced. Heat, scarcity, and the countless dangers across the vast sands.

Dangers like the very people Nuut sought.

The sun rose, casting an ochre glow through the large hole in the ceiling of the cavernous village. The townsfolk trickled away to rest as the space brightened, and Nuut stubbed her torch out against the ground.

It took her barely an hour to find the disreputable corners of Nihimlaq. Walking the streets on her own with her pegleg made her an appealing target to the kinds of people she’d sought and, like flies to honey, they came.

“I have a job for you,” she said, turning away from the cave wall at the edge of the village where she had been ostensibly 'cornered' between natural stone and the adobe of an adjacent home.

The man who had been following her stopped in his tracks.

Nuut sized him up; a slight frame under dark fabric. Face entirely obscured save only a thin strip exposing the eyes. His attire would serve well in the dark of night, but less so in the the ambient light of the risen sun. The hand gripping the hilt of a long, curved dagger - the same sort that Nuut carried, excellent for slicing - was thin and sinuous, but not emaciated. The man was healthy, if not strong.

Dangerous.

“Why work for a cripple when I can just take what I want?” he asked with a Chollish drawl.

Nuut’s nostrils flared. Her leg was a sore spot for many reasons; the pain she was constantly in, the humiliation endured from the sophisticates in Desheret, and having to travel with the very person who inflicted the loss upon her. It sealed her resolve to send this cretin - and as many of his friends as he could wrangle - after the wahsh who took her leg.

Dropping the torch, she whipped her own daggers out of her sleeves and twirled them in her hands while crouching into a prepared-to-strike stance. Both blades shimmered in the dim light of the alley and Nuut saw - to her immense satisfaction - her would-be-assailant flinch. Like most of his ilk, his marks rarely fought back.

“I have a bigger target for you. I can pay very well,” Nuut lied. “You have friends, yes? You will need them."

The man was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowed in consternation. Then he nodded. Both of them, haltingly, stowed their blades in uneasy peace.

“Meet us by the oasis in one hour.”

The would-be thief left the alley. Nuut waited a few minutes before leaving, not wanting him to feel followed.

Making her way across town, walking fast as numerous faces passed, Nuut was oasis-bound when an elderly woman stepped in front of her, hand outstretched, with a wrinkled face etched with deep lines of worry.

“You are the sister, yes?” she asked, an urgent tone in her voice.

Nuut stepped around her. “No.”

“Your sibling…you should spend more time with them.”

Nuut ignored her and kept walking.

“Regret is a self-inflicted wound that will slow you more than any injury you have yet taken!”

The mad cry of the silver-haired woman fell on deaf ears. Nuut wanted to be at the oasis well before the proposed meeting time, to counter any potential ambush. Upon arrival, with time to spare, she circled around the deep pool of water and irregular ring of trees and shrubs that sustained themselves from it.

She remained just outside the pillar of light coming down from above. The rich, fresh air - sweetened by the water - invigorated the Deshereyan warrior as she looked through the light at approaching shadows.

Four dark figures approached; the thin man leading one who’s build rivaled Charis’s broad shoulders, and two others on the slighter side.

Nuut used a knife to flick light toward them, catching their attention. The group approached with tense shoulders and light steps, not the confident swagger she had anticipated.

They were wary.

“You didn’t tell me you were with General Cassandra,” the thin man hissed once he was near.

“How do you know I am?” Nuut asked, surprised such a detail could be sniffed out.

“Whole town’s been hearin’ about ‘General Cassandra’ for the last couple days,” the big man said with a voice that sounded like his nose had been broken several times, and a face to match. “Rich Shen merchant’s been singin’ her praises ever since they got here.”

“Been spreading word that they’ll pay handsomely for everyone who helps the General and her friends out, as well,” one of the slight figures said, their face obscured with a veil.

“So whatever it is you need done, count us in.” The thin man was eager.

“I need General Cassandra killed.”

Silence. Nuut had hoped they wouldn’t have heard about Cass, but since someone had been mouthing off it was likely they knew something of the wahsh. But she needed this done. Her promise to Anatu could not be broken, but her need for revenge could not be ignored. As long as she took no action against Cassandra, she could have the best of both worlds.

“Hate to break it to ya, but ain’t she immortal?” the big guy asked.

“I heard she's strong enough to rip stone like bread," the skinny man said.

"She can take out an entire army on her own," the veiled one added.

"Can't be hurt by anyone or anything." The fourth one's voice was almost a whisper.

Nuut picked up her torch and slid the striking stone against the flint strip embedded in the wood. The sparks ignited the pitch and lit the flame.