Chapter 4

        Sometimes, Sarraya's cleverness amazed him.

        If it wasn't enough that she was a strong Druid, her devious nature would still make her an invaluable companion and friend.

        What she had done, quite simply, was make Tarrin Kael disappear.

        Tarrin sat on the top of a rather beaten wagon, patches and slapdash repairs obvious to any onlooker, being pulled by a pair of old, tired-looking horses with reins that had been broken and tied in a knot.  The wagon was filled with baskets of carrots and bushels of raw wheat.  Tarrin drove the wagon, scratching at his bare forearm, cursing the nagging pain that came with holding the human shape.  Though it was Tarrin, the human driving the wagon looking nothing like the Tarrin that his opposition was probably expecting.  They were looking for a young, tall man with long blond hair.  What they were getting was a man with a curiously ageless face, looking neither young nor old, with short black hair, wearing a plain undyed robe and a turban.

        Sarraya had helped with what he could not fake.  They had gone back to the overturned wagon during the night that Sarraya had engineered the plan, and found the two humans gone.  Tracks and marks showed that someone had arrived in a wagon from the city by the river, picked them up, and gone back.  They had left the wagon, which was what Tarrin had returned to get.  He fixed it so that it was good enough for their plan, and then Sarraya conjured the two nags to pull it.  Then she conjured all the vegetables and wheat, and Tarrin had used the remains of the wagon's cover to fashion reins and some other things to make the wagon look well used.  After they were done with the wagon, Tarrin had taken the human shape to test out their plan.

        And that had been the first real surprise.  Sarraya had stared for nearly ten minutes, and he stared at himself in the reflection of water in a conjured pail.  He looked so different.  He still had his own features, but the young man that had been Tarrin was gone.  Replaced with it was a male version of Triana, an ageless face that emanated its own power, as if the twitching of an eyebrow could pronounce doom upon the onlooker.  Though he looked ageless, it was apparent to anyone looking at him that he was very mature, as if he was wise beyond his indeterminate years.  In human form, his features were a little sharper, and he was nearly a span and a half shorter.  He was still an immensely tall human, but nowhere near the towering height he possessed in his natural form.  Tarrin's human form was now just as tall as his hybrid, humanoid form had been before Shiika's draining kiss.  And because of that, it felt more correct to be at that height than it did in his natural form, for he still wasn't entirely used to the gain in height yet.

        The major blessing of the disparate heights was what it caused the amulet around his neck to do.  When he was in human form, the manacles went into the elsewhere because they would fall off his human wrists.  And when he changed from human to his natural form, it caused any shoes he was wearing to go into the elsewhere, because they were too small for his hybrid feet.  Now, when he took the human form, the backpack holding the Book of Ages also went into the elsewhere, because it was fitted for his much larger humanoid body.  What that meant was that it would not lead them to him while he was in human form, and it also meant that when he had the time, he could bring the backpack back, take it off, change back into human form, shorten the straps and put it on, then change back to his natural form.  Because the backpack's straps would be too small, it would put the book in the elsewhere.  It meant that he now did have a way to stay in his much more mobile natural form, yet not have the Book of Ages out to draw every enemy in range right to him.

        Tarrin didn't scoff at this most important beneficial side effect, but it made him just a little bit curious.  If things not fitted for the new form went into the elsewhere, then why didn't his clothes go too?  After all, they were fitted for his natural form.  When he changed into his human form, they were baggy and loose, and now he had to cinch up his pants to keep them from fallling off, and the shredded cuffs of the pants dragged the ground.  But they didn't.  This intrigued him, and it annoyed him just a little bit.  It seemed strange that the amulet would somehow distinguish between clothing and manacles, shoes and backpacks.  That it would pick and choose what it sent into the elsewhere.  After all, it should have been all or nothing.  It should either send everything, or send nothing at all.  Why only this item or that item?

        But he didn't have all that much time to wonder about that.  After they got the wagon fixed and Sarraya used her magic to summon horses to pull it, Tarrin got busy setting it up to look like he was a solitary trader, coming to the desert border to sell his food.  Sarraya used her magic to conjure up some dye for his hair, and Tarrin cut off his braid.  Then he dyed his hair and eyebrows black, and Sarraya used her magic to darken his visible skin, to make him look more like an Arakite.  There was nothing she could do about his eyes, but she solved that by making another visor, this one a smoky grayish color that hid his eyes behind a dark veil.  His ageless face made it hard to pin a nationality on him, so that helped even more.  Then she conjured up the material for a simple robe, he fashioned a turban from a torn cotton shirt he found in the debris of the wagon, and he was ready to go.

        After it was all done, Tarrin had to be impressed with how thoroughly different he looked.  There was no way anyone who knew him would be able to recognize him.  He looked like an Arakite, though a tall one with sharp features.  He looked just like what he pretended to be, a solitary merchant with a load of food.  With the Book of Ages in the elsewhere and Sarraya hiding invisibly, there was nothing to give him away but his eyes and his amulet, and both of them were concealed.

        That had been eight days ago.  Tarrin had been ambling along at a lazy pace for those eight days, getting progressively more and more uncomfortable in his human form.  He'd never held it for so long before, and he was starting to ache in all sorts of bad places, and his muscles were prone to cramping if he sat in one place too long.  Allia's trick to ignore the pain was the only thing keeping him from changing back, but changing back was no option now.  If he did, he'd tell everyone just where he was, and it would put his disguise in danger.  He didn't know how close he was to the border of the desert, but it couldn't be very far.  He'd yet to see any Trolls--or anyone, for that matter--but they couldn't be very far away.

        The weather had held as they travelled west.  There had been no more sandstorms, and the sky had even been a little cloudy a few days.  The thin, high clouds couldn't possibly deliver any rain, but they kept the brutal sun off of him.  But there had been other things in the sky as well.  At least once a day, he saw at least one trio of large flying objects in the sky.  None of them had been very close to his position, but they had passed at intervals that told him that they were looking for something.  Probably looking for him.  The fact that they weren't flying right over him told him that at least it looked like the disguise was effective.

        The disguise had been the second choice.  Sarraya had wanted to go with the most simple approach to getting past the Trolls, and that was to think small.  In cat form, Tarrin would be able to easily slip past their picket line in the night.  Or, if there proved to be too many, to wait for a sandstorm to hide their passing.  But ever since the pain he'd felt in cat form, he'd been...afraid, to return to that form.  He was afraid of the hollow emptiness he'd suffered while trapped in cat form, afraid of what it may do to him now.  He wouldn't be afraid of cat form forever, but for now, for a while at least, he wanted to be free of the anxiety of knowing what would await him when he took that form.

        But as second choices went, it was an excellent one.  The disguise was clever and complete, and it would allow him to get within spitting distance of the border, able to change form and run over it if needs be, before an organized attempt to stop him could materialize.  He knew that there were trading posts on the border.  Allia had told him that.  The woman showed him that it was normal for merchants to come and go from those trading posts, and the road would lead him directly to one of them.  All he had to do was misdirect whoever was there to prevent his passing long enough to get close enough to the border to get across.  Once he was in Selani lands, under the dominion of Fara'Nae, he doubted that they would pursue.

        Only a maniac entered the Desert of Swiling Sands unescorted by Selani.

        But Tarrin wasn't known for his sanity.  Kravon had seen to that, and his own nature had aggravated it.  Doing insane things was his meat and drink, often before he realized just how crazy his actions really were.  It was the impulsive streak in him, brought by the Cat.  The Cat was a creature grounded in the moment, and often had trouble planning for the future.  That caused his plans to only look a little bit into the future, and caused him to go by the seat of his pants once his brief plans ran out of steam.  That was why he was so thankful that Sarraya was with him.  He didn't want another repeat of the half-plans he'd used to get the Book of Ages from Shiika.  It nearly got him killed.  Sarraya was just as erratic as him, but at least she could look into the future better than him.

        Scratching at his forearm again in irritation, he looked over the flat expanses of the plains of Saranam, but they were growing less flat.  Gentle ridges and rolling irregularities in that flatness had begun to appear, and on the horizon, lit by the morning sun at his back, was the strange stone formations that Allia had described to him.  Sashaida Krinazar, the Mother's Fingers.  They were colums of rock that dotted the entire desert, irregularly shaped pillars, sculpted by the wind into all sorts of exotic shapes and colors.  Allia had told him that some were barely more than twice a Selani's height, and some were so tall that they had never been climbed.  Some were as thin as a sapling, some were so thick that a village could be placed atop it, with plenty of room to spare.  One, called the Sose Imune, or the Cloud Spire, stood in the exact center of the desert, and had a continuous cloud concealing its top.  If anything, the appearance of the Sashaida Krinazar told him that he could not be more than a day's amble from the desert.  He was getting close.

        "Why did I listen to you?" Tarrin complained in irritation.  "I feel like I'm being dragged through a bristle patch."

        "It's all part of the plan," Sarraya said from her seat on the top of his head.  "We had to be consistent.  We couldn't just appear on the road."

        "I could have hid under a robe.  I'm so sore and stiff that I can't even walk straight."

        "That's another part or the disguise," she said.  "They're looking for a young and trained Were-cat.  Not a stiff-jointed Arakite merchant with a bad attitude.  You move like a panther, even in human form.  I had to make sure you didn't have that warrior's swagger by the time we got to the border."

        "You could have just told me to walk different," he said sourly.

        "It wouldn't have mattered.  You can't take the swagger out of your walk any more than you can walk on your ears.  At least this way, you won't be faking anything."

        "You could have explained that to me days ago."

        "Then where would the fun be?" she said impishly.

        Tarrin muttered things Sarraya would not like to hear under his breath, adjusting the visor on his nose.  It pressed down on his nose in an uncomfortable way; it was smaller than the first visor she made for him, and the edge resting on his nose was almost sharp.  But the wind was starting to pick up--nowhere near a sandstorm--and it put the loose sand and dust of the plain into the air.  The Sashaida Krinazar began to get lost in the thickening haze caused by the wind sweeping over the plain, but he really didn't need to see them anymore.  He knew he was close, he knew that things were going to get serious very soon.

        It all came down to how well the disguise could fool whoever was waiting at the end of the road.  He felt confident that it was going to work, but things never worked out quite the way he expected most of the time.  He looked like an Arakite, and he could speak Arakite as well as a native.  His accent was a little strange, but he could pass that off as being from Yar Arak, rather than Saranam.  His disguise was an effective one, all the way down to the vegetables in his rickety wagon and the tired horses that were pulling it.  Judging from their condition and the fact that they were tamed, the horses had to be farm animals.  Tarrin wondered idly just from which farmer Sarraya had stolen the horses when she conjured them.  Tarrin hoped that it didn't put the man in a bad spot.  He grew up on a farm, he understood just how important farm horses could be to the production of the farm.

        He had everything he needed to get past the obstacle ahead.  All he needed was an absence of bad luck.  He didn't even need or ask for good luck.  Just an absence of bad luck.  He'd had enough bad luck over the last year, he didn't need any more.

        Tarrin scratched at his arm again, enduring the nagging ache of spending so many days in human form.  He only had a little more to go, then he would be free of this cursed endless pain.

        The stewing over the pain ended late that afternoon, as the sun began to creep towards the horizong, as they crested a small rise and found themselves looking down on what could only be called an army encampment.  Fires and ragged tents flanked a cluster of warehouses and buildings, and figures mulled about, sat by fires, or marched up and down or stood sentry to defend the encampment.  On the fringes of the fires were large pens, and some of them held Wyverns, which were being tended by human handlers.  Beyond the fires and the buildings, much to his surprise, was an expanse of bare rock, which simply stopped.  A cliff!  Beyond that cliff, a cliff that ran from horizon to horizon, was a bare expanse of beige, a wide swath of sand that extended to the limit of his vision.

        An escarpment!  He didn't know that was there!  And he had no idea how high it was.  This changed things, he realized.  With an escarpment there, it wasn't going to be just quite so easy as running over a border.  That escarpment may only be a few spans high, or maybe a few hundred.  There was an escarpment in Shacè, his father had told him, a gentle disruption in the grasslands south of the forest that was ten spans high, and ran for nearly fifty longspans from the east to the west.  Tarrin fervently hoped that this escarpment was similar to that one, an escarpment easy to navigate.

        Tarrin surveyed the land.  There was about a longspan of bare rock from the outer edge of the trading post to the escarpment.  From this distance, he couldn't judge the escarpment's height, because the featureless sand of the desert was unfamiliar to him and gave him no landmarks to use as a guide.  He had to get closer before he could make that kind of guess.  Judging from the fires and what figures he could see, there were a few thousand creatures here, and not all of them were the same.  Some were very, very tall, even taller than him.  Those were Trolls.  There were others too, smaller and stocky, with large ears on their heads.  They looked like Waern.  Some were obviously human, and he even saw a few dog-headed Dargu here and there in the throng.

        Again, he was amazed at how whoever had assembled them was keeping order.  Trolls considered Waern good eating, and Waern killed Dargu whenever they found them to cut down on competition for a territory's resources.  And all of them hated humans, and killed them whenever the opportunity arose.  Yet there were Waern and Trolls within spear's cast of one another, and Dargu and Waern actually crossing paths, with no bloodshed.  Something had to scare them so much that they wouldn't fight amongst themselves.  And anything with that kind of power was something Tarrin had better fear.

        The disparity of the group was one thing, but its numbers were the other.  The invaders surrounded the trading post--it had to be one, with the number of warehouses he could see--and hemmed the humans inside.  He could see some of them, rushing out in relatively empty streets, probably getting out of sight as quickly as possible.  He couldn't blame them.  There had probably already been any number of messy accidents and object lessons to keep their captive humans under control.

        Tarrin considered it.  He had to get into and through the post, travel a longspan, then navigate the escarpment to get into the desert.  Because of the distance he'd have to travel and the Wyverns that could quickly overtake him, the attempt was something best done at night, when he had the advantage.  It was about an hour or so from nightfall, so if he just ambled along and took his time, went slow once he got there and let them put him in the trading post with the other captives, he should be able to sneak out of the city after nightfall and get into the desert.  That seemed a good enough plan.

        "Look at them all," Sarraya breathed to him.  "Thousands!  And they're not fighting each other!"

        "I know.  I've seen this before.  There has to be someone commanding them that makes them so afraid they won't kill each other.  That's not someone I want to meet, Sarraya."

        "I can't argue with that logic," Sarraya grunted in agreement.  "It's about a longspan to that cliff there, and it's all desert past it.  We should try it at night."

        "I'm way ahead of you," he told her as he urged the tired horses into a slow walk forward.  "Do you know how high the cliff is?"

        "I didn't know it was there," she said hesitantly.  "Let me go see.  I'll be back in a while."

        He felt her lift up from the top of his head, and the sound of her wings faded quickly as she darted towards the escarpment.  Tarrin sighed in relief.  At least he would know if he'd be jumping off or climbing down the cliff before he got there.

        Moving as if he had all the time in the world, Tarrin's wagon approached the post and its occupying force.  Tarrin used the time to prepare himself, to suppress the urges he knew would come if he was put face to face with Goblinoids.  He had no idea who he'd be dealing with when he got there, whether he'd be trying to talk himself past a human or a Goblinoid.  He had to be ready for either eventuality.

        When he was about five hundred spans from the outer edges of them, two armed humans on horses rode towards him.  They wore black leather hauberks underneath a voluminous sand-colored cloak, and both of them looked uncomfortable wearing the armor in the dry heat of the summer afternoon.  One of them looked Dal, the other Torian.  Both had black hair, with one man stocky and muscled with wide features, the other built like a reed but with considerable height.  Tarrin let them ride towards him without stopping.  After all, he didn't know who they were and what they intended to do.

        "Hold!" the Torian said in harshly accented Arakite.  "What business you have here?" he asked in broken Arakite.

        "I speak the western trade tongue," Tarrin said in heavily accented Sulasian, which was something of the common trade language in the West.  An Arakite wouldn't know it to be Sulasian, so he didn't call it that.  "What is all this?  Are the Selani attacking?"

        "We ask the questions here!" the Torian snapped.  "Who are you, and what business do you have?"

        "I am Tek, a merchant," he replied in a quiet tone, trying to sound humble.  But sounding humble was difficult for him.  "I come to sell my wheat and carrots to the Selani.  But if they're trying to attack, I think I'll just sell them in Sargon."

        The man reached up and pulled off Tarrin's visor, staring into his eyes suspiciously.  "Strange eyes for an Arakite," he said dangerously.

        "My mother was Torian," Tarrin told him, reaching up and pulling off his turban, letting him see his black hair.  "It's the only way I favor her."

        The man seemed to try to take issue with that, staring intently at Tarrin's dress, his eyes, his face.  The man was looking for something to identify Tarrin as Tarrin, he realized.  Tarrin felt his heart try to speed up, but he kept himself looking calm and collected.  Just like Triana.  Give the man the face of stone and let him do the sweating.

        "You have bad timing, Tek," the man sneered.  "This region is now under the rule of the ki'zadun.  Your goods will be confiscated and you'll be put in the trading post with the other guests.  Step down and submit to search."

        "Key-who?" Tarrin asked. "Is that some kingdom I never heard about?"

        "You'll discover who we are soon enough," the Torian barked.  "Now get down!"

        Tarrin allowed himself to look irritated and outraged as he gingerly got down from the wagon.  Muscles locked in the human form for days protested at the activity, making him have to support himself with the wagon after putting his rough-shoed feet on the ground.  He stooped considerbly, both because his back hurt and to help hide his height.

        "What's the matter with you?"

        "I'm not as young as you, son," Tarrin told him bluntly, making it sound convincing, though Tarrin was probably younger than the man before him.  "You'll find out what's wrong with me when you get to be my age."

        The two men dismounted, and the Torian roughly searched him by patting down his robe.  He found only the small dagger Tarrin had put on his belt to complete his disguise, which he immediately removed.  He then was pushed back while the two men began going through the wagon.  But they found nothing out of the ordinary for a solitary merchant.

        "Why are you travelling alone?" the Torian asked harshly as they overturned a basket of carrots into the wagon.

        "Ain't nothing out here to attack a man, your honor," Tarrin replied calmly.  "No bandit in his right mind sets up this close to Selani land, cause there ain't nowhere to hide.  I travel alone when I can cause it cuts down on extra hands I have to pay."

        That seemed to quell the man's questions.  They finished going through the wagon, finding nothing that identified Tarrin as the man they were looking for, and Tarrin could see it in the Torian's eyes that his disguise had worked.  The green eyes had made the man suspicious, but the black hair, the dark skin, the manner in which Tarrin moved and the way he spoke, it convinced the Torian that Tarrin was not the man they were seeking.  That made him very much more relieved.  All he had to do now was wait for them to put him in the trading post and forget about him.

        Tarrin stood to the side patiently and waited for the men to finish, getting out of the wagon.  "Get back up and follow me," the Torian ordered.  "My silent friend here will follow behind, just in case you get any stupid ideas.  But I don't think an old potseller like you is going to be that stupid.  I think you know that those two nags could never outrun our warhorses, and resisting us will get you into a Troll's stewpot."

        Tarrin said nothing, just giving the man a hard look, then he limped back to the wagon and pulled himself into the seat.  He put his turban and visor back on, and took the reins as the two men mounted their horses.  He didn't look it, but inside Tarrin was silently rejoicing.  The disguise had worked.  Now he just had to wait for sunset, and he would slip right through them.

        The Torian led him right into the trading post, which consisted of a large circular area surrounded by warehouses and smaller buildings, all of which was surrounded by a very low stone wall.  It reminded him of the Green in a strange way, back in Aldreth.  The large field around which the village's buildings were arrayed.  This place was organized along the same lines.  The circular open space was empty, and fresh dust covered the hard packed earth that was blown in on the wind.  Everyone who was here was in the buildings, and there was no sign of wagons or other items of trade.  A patrol of ten men wearing similar devices as the Torian on their black tunics marched into view, looking to be doing a circuit of the outside wall.  He didn't see any other patrol; that one patrol may be guarding the entire post.  Then again, with all those Trolls out there, what prisoner in his right mind would try to escape?  It would be much safer inside the prison than outside in this situation.

        "Get down," the Torian ordered sharply as Tarrin reined in the wagon.  He set the brake and crawled down from the wagon seat slowly, rubbing his side gently after a rather bad spasm struck.  He spotted several faces staring at him from a window on the second floor of what looked to be an inn as he took off the visor to give his nose a rest, but they quickly disappeared when the Torian dismounted and approached.

        "Beggin' your honor's pardon, but when will I be allowed to leave?" Tarrin asked.  "I've got business to tend."

        "You'll leave when we tell you to leave," the man sneered, pointing to the building where Tarrin saw the faces.  "Go find a room over there in that inn, and make sure you stay out of our way.  You can go anywhere on the post's grounds you want, but if you're caught inside any warehouse or outside the wall, you'll be a Troll's dinner.  Is that clear, old man?"

        "Perfectly," Tarrin said with sudden sharpness, a sharpness that made the man look strangely at him.

        "Don't give me a reason to not like you, old coot," the Torian sneered even harder.

        The man's manner was getting to him.  Tarrin came out of his stoop, rising to his full height and staring down at the shorter man with hard, unforgiving eyes.  For a fleeting moment, Tarrin assaulted the man with all of his hidden power through his stance and gaze and posture, an aura of unshakable strength that told the man that his continued survival was determined only by Tarrin's will.  The man gaped up at Tarrin for a second, then stepped back unconsciously against such a blatant display of strength.  But Tarrin realized what he was doing nearly as he found himself doing it, and gently and smoothly returned to his stoop and put on a less intimidating expression.

        Silently kicking himself, Tarrin watched the man.  Now he had a good reason to think that Tarrin was something other than what he appeared.  A solitary merchant would not act in such a manner.  Part of him got ready if it came down to a fight, planning his actions.  Kill the man, run for the far side of the compound.  Hope that he could get to the escarpment before the Trolls could cut him off, and hope that it wasn't a fatal distance down to the desert floor.

        The man stared at him for a long moment, but for some reason, he only shook his head as he climbed up into the wagon.  Tarrin moved to step away from it, but the man's boot struck him in the chest, sending him staggering back wildly.  Tarrin's aching muscles couldn't find a center, and he toppled over onto his backside, sitting down heavily enough to feel his teeth click together.  He stayed where he was, watching the Torian take the wagon and its wares down the compound, towards a warehouse that had its doors open.  The Dal came up behind and took the reins of the Torian's horse, then followed silently behind the wagon, leaving Tarrin sitting in the middle of the compound.

        He waited until they entered the warehouse before pulling himself back up to his feet and sighing in tremendous relief.  He almost gave himself away.  The man's treatment of him provoked an instinctive response.  Tarrin was not used to showing throat, was not used to being submissive.  The man's threats had provoked his sense of dominance, had seemed to challenge him.  He came about a rat's tail from showing the man just who was the dominant of the two.  Blind luck, that, or the man was afraid of him.  One or the other had kept the man from doing something about it.

        The fluttering of chitinous wings heralded Sarraya's return.  She landed lightly on his shoulder as he limped towards the inn, aware that eyes were on him around the compound.  "I've got good news and bad news," she whispered in his ear.  "The bad news is that the cliff is about a hundred spans down where we are.  The good news is that the cliff's height lowers as you move to the north.  If you can get a longspan north, the cliff is only forty spans high.  You could jump that, there's a sand drift at the base to land in."

        That explained why it took her so long to get back.  "I've gotten past them," he told her in a bare whisper.  "I think we can make a longspan in the dark, because I'll be behind them."

        "Good. Where are we going?"

        "Where I was told to go."

        Tarrin reached the door of the inn and immediately opened it.  Beyond was a rather dirty common room, full of partially destroyed furniture sparsely scattered across a bare earth floor.  Inside was packed nearly fifty people, men and women and children, sitting on the few chairs and sitting or standing on the floor.  All of them had the look of a prisoner, despondant and wary, with the look of fear in their eyes.  They all wore dirty clothes, and most of them had dirt and dust streaked on their faces.  The majorty of them were Arakite, but he did see four pale-skinned faces in that crowd, what looked like Torians.

        This was not something he expected.  Being cooped up with so many strangers would certainly wear on him, and wear on him quickly.  The fact that he was already dealing with the aggravating ache of a body locked in an unnatural form for too long would make his temper very short, as it had been with the Torian guard.  These were all strangers, and what was worse, they were all potential enemies.  Any one of these would probably turn on him if they knew who he was, that they were looking for him, in the hopes that calling him out would get them released.

        There was nowhere to sit.  All of the few chairs were occupied by the largest of the men, who had probably bullied their way into them.  With no guards to separate the prisoners, Tarrin had little doubt that this inn was ruled by the largest and meanest of the humans, who took what he wanted from whomever he wanted.

        There was nothing like imprisonment to bring out the worst in a human.

        It would bring out the worst in him, and he knew it.  It was only about an hour until sunset, so he only had to stay out of the way until then, until it was dark enough for him to slip out and away.  But the first order of business was to get out of sight of the inn's bullies.  He was new, his ageless face made it easy to mistake him for an older man, and he was moving like he was old and weak.  That would make him a prime target for them.

        Tarrin grimaced slightly when one of the seated men suddenly stood, looking in his direction.  It certainly hadn't taken him long.  He was an Arakite, big and broud-shouldered, wearing a rust-spotted tunic that told him that this was a mercenary.  He was used to having armor over that tunic.  He had strangely wide features for an Arakite, with a scar puckering the right side of his nose.  He had his head shaved, but days without access to a razor had put black stubble over his forehead.  The man blocked Tarrin's path into the inn with hands folded before him, staring into Tarrin's eyes with an ugly look.

        "There's a tax for entering this inn," the man said in Arakite, in a dangerous tone and an ugly smile, which made some of his friends laugh harshly.  But that dangerous tone and ugly look became uncertain when Tarrin again rose up to his full height, suddenly towering over the man by half a head, looking down at him with a stony face that threatened violence should the man not tread carefully.

        "I'll only say this once," Tarrin said in Arakite, in an ominously quiet manner.  "The first man to put a finger on me dies."

        "Oh, what are ya gonna do, use nasty words?" the man before him asked, then he laughed at his own joke.  "Curse at me til I die?  You couldn't carry my shield, old man."

        "There's one way for you to find out," Tarrin proposed in an emotionless voice, his eyes narrowing.

        The man grinned nastily and held out a single finger, then purposefully reached over and poked it into Tarrin's chest.

        Tarrin lashed out with his left hand, grabbing that finger and breaking it, twisting it back over the man's hand and turning with it.  The man screamed in pain as his hand and arm followed Tarrin's pressure, until it was turned around with the palm up.  Muscles sore and aching for days became suddenly fluid and loose as Tarrin's other hand snapped forward, three fingertips striking the man squarely in the throat, crushing his trachea.  It was a Selani move, and it was a killing move.  And Tarrin had performed it perfectly.

        Tarrin let go and watched with distant, cold eyes as the man grasped at his neck with both hands, then sagged to the floor while making gurgling sounds.  Then he toppled over and fell to the floor with a crash.

        "Anyone else?" Tarrin asked with a brutal tone, looking around the room, at all the startled faces.

        There was silence.

        Giving the room a deadly look, Tarrin collected himself, stalking across the quiet room and taking the dead man's chair.  The other three men at the chair's table jumped up and abandoned their seats when he grabbed the back of the chair, and then sat down to an empty table with the rest of the room's complement staring at him and whispering in hushed tones.

        "My, we're testy today," Sarraya whispered impishly in his ear, but he ignored her comment, propping his chin with his hand, elbow on the table, waiting in sober silence for nightfall.  The rest of the people in the room began talking again in hushed tones, and a few of the more adventurous of them stripped the body of the man clean of anything useful, leaving it literally in its shortclothes.  Then it was carried back into the inn's kitchen, probably to be disposed.  He certainly hoped they didn't intend to cook it.

        He reflected momentarily on what he saw.  The ki'zadun was probably his very first enemy, the first ones to identify him and try to kill him.  He'd thought of them what he'd been told, as a secretive shadow organization that worked behind the scenes with spies, informants, and magicians.  He never dreamed that they had a standing army, not like the one he'd seen outside.  Certainly he knew that they had some sway with Goblinoids, but he never dreamed they could assemble a standing army.  An army that looked disciplined, well supplied, and well trained.  Now he saw a different side to his old enemy, a militaristic side.  They were more than a secret society that used intrigue and politics to gain power.  It seemed that they knew when the application of direct force was more appropriate, and kept that force on hand when it was required.  He wondered what kind of man could be part of that army, to know that he was working for the wrong side, to ally himself with Trolls and Waern and Dargu.  But that was something of a silly question.  Humans were humans, and a great deal of them had morals that only went as far as the money they were paid.  That was just they way they were.  He knew that for some men, if they were paid enough, they'd do just about anything.

        He had to admit, they also had a good idea and a good plan.  They couldn't find him, and any patrol that did find him out on the plains would be wiped out.  So instead of trying to hunt him down, they had set up so that they made him come to them.  They never intended to hunt him on the plains, not when they knew where he was going.  It was much easier and more sensible to assemble their forces along his path, to stop him before he could reach his objective, and bring along enough force to give them a reasonable chance to do it.  He could appreciate the strategy, even if it inconvenienced him.

        He didn't have to wait very long before things started to happen.  Not long after killing the bully, the door to the inn opened.  Tarrin turned to look, and saw himself staring at four ki'zadun soldiers, with the massive body of a Troll blotting out the view of the area behind them.  Behind the soldiers was a woman dressed in a black robe, a woman that looked young and vibrant, with honey colored hair and a tall, thin frame.  She was Shacèan by her features, a swallow-necked beauty with cold, dead blue eyes.

        That one was a magician.

        "It is in here," she reported in a serene tone, holding up one of her hands.  Tarrin looked at it, and his heart moved about two spans behind him when he saw what she was holding.

        A small shard of something that looked like thin stained glass.  Tarrin recognized it immediately as a piece of a Faerie's wing.

        The woman looked directly at him, and then those cold blue eyes turned hungry, and she gave him an evil smile.

        They couldn't find him, so they were magically tracking Sarraya!

        That Troll behind her told him everything he needed to know in one quick moment of lucidity.  They had set up before coming in.  They knew Sarraya was inside, and they knew she travelled with him, so that told them that he was also inside.  And he didn't doubt that the building was surrounded by Trolls, to stop him when he tried to run.

        There wasn't really any fear, just a relief that he didn't have to wait in suspense any longer.  If they wanted a fight, he'd be glad to give them one.

        He did it so quickly that it took the armed men by surprise.  He stood even as he changed form, shedding his darkened Arakite skin and expanding to his full height.  Before they could register that, register that he was acting, Tarrin grabbed the top of the square table before him and hefted it like it was a stick.  By the time the first scream of surprise was issued, he turned and swept the table around his body, throwing it like a dinner plate at the group of soldiers and the magician they were protecting.  It hit the lead man squarely, blasting him back and impacting those behind, knocking all five of them to the floor by the doorway in a spray of blood and a cacophony of shocked and pained cries.

        Conscious thought yielded to the animalistic power of the Cat.  Tarrin jumped up on another table and extended his claws as the Troll outside smashed its way through the door, breaking away the frame and a good portion of the wall to make a hole big enough to fit its massive bulk.  Crouching, Tarrin roared at the Troll in challenge, claws out and held low, eyes blazing with their unholy greenish fire.  The display made the Troll hesitate, then it brought up a huge wooden club and advanced on the ready Were-cat.  Tarrin darted aside just as the club shattered the table, landing on the side of his foot and immediately turning on the Troll.  But Trolls were deceptively fast and agile despite their bulk, and it managed to turn its club to meet the charge.  It raised it and tried to smash the Were-cat into the floor--

        --but a loud smack heralded the impact of the club on Tarrin's open palms.  The Were-cat caught the club and held it back, pushing it away as he rose up to his full height, a height that put his eyes at the Troll's collarbones.  In that fleeting moment, despite the fact that he was engaged in a life and death battle with a Troll, he finally understood just how tall he had become.

        The Troll looked genuinely shocked.  It pushed down on the club, grabbing it with both hands and using its height as leverage, but it could not bring it down.  Tarrin's strength, an awesome strength that was not apparent to the onlooker, held the club at bay, kept it from getting any closer.  They pushed against one another as Tarrin's claws sank into the club, sank into the dirt floor beneath him.  He bowed his back slightly, coming onto the heels of his feet, and it made the Troll growl in expectation and put everything it had into driving the club down, to bend the Were-cat's back and put him on his back.

        It did not understand.  It could not see, until it was too late.

        Tarrin's tail whipped up in the blink of an eye, and the tip of it wrapped around the hilt of the sword strapped under the pack holding the Book of Ages.  The member was more than twice as long as his arm, nearly as long as his body.  The tail pulled up on the hilt, then snaked around the blade in a manner that allowed his tail to draw the weapon.  It slithered down through the coil in Tarrin's tail, until the tip again wrapped around the hilt.

        The Troll's eyes widened in shock and sudden terror as Tarrin shifted under its relentless press, shifted so the tail could come around his body and hit the Troll without obstacle.  It tried to pull away, but the claws dug into the club prevented it from withdrawing the weapon when Tarrin shifted from pushing to pulling, and it stubbornly, dimly refused to let go.  The shift allowed him to turn sideways, and the sword sliced around his body, sweeping up from the floor and digging into the underside of both of the Troll's forearms.        The Troll released the club with a howl of agony, blood spraying from the bone-deep slashes in both forearms.  It staggered back a step, and focused on the Were-cat just in time to see its own club driving towards its head.  It saw a white flash, and then it saw no more.

        Tarrin threw the club aside and pulled his sword from his tail, thanking everyone available that his tail was so flexible.  He became aware of the frightened screams and chaos of the humans around him, then tuned it out as his conscious mind reasserted itself and dealt with the situation.  The ki'zadun soldidrs and mage were either dead or unconscious.  Blood pooled around the soldiers, and the mage, who had been behind them and not struck by the table, laid on her stomach and did not move.  They were not a threat to him at the moment.  They probably had the building surrounded, so he couldn't go out.  He had to either get above them or below them, out of the reach of the Trolls.  Below was out of the question with a dirt floor, so above was the only option.  The inn had two floors, and it was a pattern Arakite structure, with a flat stone roof and most likely a trap door or staircase that led to it.

        The buildings were not that far apart.  He could easily jump from building to building, until he was close enough to the wall to come down to the ground, and race the Trolls to the escarpment.  Tarrin claw's snapped out, and he picked up the closest human, a dirty-faced young woman too terrified to run.  "Where are the stairs to the roof?" he demanded in a hot voice, glaring at the woman in a manner that told her that her life depended on her ability to answer.

        She pointed dumbly to a door on the back wall.

        Tarrin dropped her, let her fall the nearly two spans to the floor, and was out that door before her rump hit the ground.

        He could hear them.  He could smell them.  Troll voices were suddenly barking, calling, outside the inn, as well as excited shouts and calls from others.  But the others didn't concern him, it was the Trolls he had to worry about.  Beyond the door was a kitchen, a kitchen almost stripped bare of anything edible.  In the near corner was a steep staircase leading upstairs.

        "Tarrin, what are you doing?" Sarraya demanded.  He'd completely forgotten about her.  He could hear her wings come up behind him; she must have gotten dislodged in his short exchange with the people in the common room.

        "The roof," he replied in a hasty voice, moving towards the stairs.  "I can get to the edge of the compound from the roof."

        "Good idea," she agreed.

        It took him a very short time to go up the stairs, see another set of stairs at the end of the hallway at the top, and then climb up onto the roof.  The setting sun was just on the edge of the horizon of the desert, and there were Trolls everywhere.  Trolls, men in black hauberks, men screamin and shouting and staying out from under the feet of the Trolls as they moved to encircle the compound.  There were several shouts from them when Tarrin appeared a the top, looking towards the west, to see how far away the next roof was, and the Were-cat had to duck when a few arrows came after him, but not before he saw that the roof of the warehouse beside the inn was very close.  It was just higher than the inn, making the jump a tricky one.

        "I think they want us to stay for dinner," Sarraya said archly as she zipped down under the ledge of the roof.  The angry buzzing of several more arrows followed.

        "The roof's in my range, but I need a running start," he told her, sheathing his sword, then scampering back to the center of the roof on all fours.  He rose up and accelerated nearly to full speed in two steps, and his foot hit the ledge and pushed off as he suddenly appeared over the rooftop.  Tarrin sailed through the air as if flying, paws leading as he rose up and moved over the heads of Trolls and men, until his paws hit the outer ledge of the warehouse's roof.  He used his inhuman strength to literally haul himself up and over before the archers could draw a bead on him, sliding over the ledge seconds before several arrows struck the space where he had been.

        "I think they like you," Sarraya teased as she zipped over herself, her form hidden from sight by her veil of magical invisibility.

        "Think you could stop making jokes and give me some help here?" Tarrin demanded hotly, swatting an arrow down that had come over the far side of the roof, fired at a trajectory.  He got up as Sarraya held her arms out, something she tended to do when using Druidic magic, and a glimmering field of soft glowing light appeared around his body, then winked out of sight.

        "There, arrows can't get through that," she told him.  "And since they can't see it, it'll give you several hits before they realize it's not working."

        Tarrin growled in his throat.  He'd been hoping for something a bit more substantial, but it was better than nothing.

        A quick glance over the far side of the roof showed that the Trolls were swarming out onto the rocky flat between the post and the escarpment, blocking his escape route.  Trolls, and more importantly, wizards, were rushing towards the warehouse, trying to surround it.  There were also men running into the warehouse on the far side of the alley, the warehouse to which he needed to jump to get to the edge of the compound.

        They were cutting him off!

        Swearing, Tarrin leaned back from sight of the archers and considered his options.  And just about every option he could think of involved Sorcery in one way or another.

        "Sarraya, I need some ideas here!" Tarrin said urgently.  "I'm going to have to use Sorcery!"

        "Tarrin, look out!" Sarraya suddenly screamed.

        But it was too late.  Something struck him in the back, struck him like a Giant's hammer, bowing him and knocking the breath from his lungs.  The sky blurred slightly, and he could feel himself hurtling forward, over the ledge of the roof and out into empty space.

        But there was no stomach-lifting sense of falling.  The force was still behind him, around him.  Something had hold of him!  And whatever it was, it was either thirty spans tall or able to walk on air!

        Greetings, came a highly amused voice, a voice that spoke directly inside his mind.

        It was feminine.

        Tarrin recovered his breath and his wits enough to look around and above him.  What he saw was the sleek outline of a female torso, and a large bat-like wing appeared over her back, swept down, and then rose back out of sight.

        Shiika!

        For a moment, he panicked.  Shiika probably wanted to take his head off and mount it on her wall.  He grabbed the hands locked around his chest and tried to pry them apart, writhing and struggling to get free of her.

        Stop, or you'll fall! she protested.

        Tarrin got a sense of that voice, and he realized that it didn't sound like Shiika.  He managed to get her scent, and was sure of it.  She was one of the Cambisi, one of Shiika's half-Demon offspring.  One of the females.  He looked down, and saw them soaring over the startled Trolls, out over the rocky flat towards the escarpment.  The Cambisi had him in a powerful grip around the chest, carrying him towards the desert.

        She was helping him!

        "What are you doing?" Tarrin demanded in confusion.

        What does it look like, you silly Were-cat? she replied mentally, her amusement obvious in her tone.  It looked like you needed a wing.  Just be glad I was in the neighborhood.

        Tarrin's mind raced as she crossed over the escarpment, then started descending towards the sandy ground.  Why was she helping him?  Shiika probably wanted him dead for what he did to her.  And Shiika's offspring didn't do anything without their mother ordering them to do it.  So Shiika had sent this one, but to help him?  That didn't make any sense!

        Her wings catching the air gently, the halfbreed carried him well out of arrow range from the escarpment, and for a moment Tarrin got caught up in the sensation of flight.  To see the ground flow underneath him so quickly, to feel the pull of gravity, yet not be a slave to it.  It was a feeling of exhilaration that overwhelmed his shock and confusion, caused him to look down with wide eyes and feel like a child again.

        And then it was over.  The Demoness pulled up, and then she set him gently on the sand of the desert.  They were nearly two longspans away from the escarpment, so far that no foot party could ever catch up to him.

        With a calm sigh, he realized that he made it.  He was now beyond their reach.  They weren't insane enough to come into the desert after him.

        I think that little bug will catch up in a few minutes, the halfbreed remarked mentally.  Tarrin turned around and got a good look at her.  It was the blond one, the tallest of the females.  She had her mother's beautiful face, but her features were a bit narrower, and she wasn't quite so busty as Shiika.  She wore a half-shirt that left her midriff bare, that was tied onto her so it didn't foul her wings, and a pair of undyed leather breeches tucked into soft doeskin knee-boots.  She carried one of those black-bladed swords in a scabbard on her belt, and three daggers were sheathed on the other side.  Surprised to see me? she asked with a disarming smile.

        "What do you want?" Tarrin demanded instantly, backing away from her.  "I'm not giving up the Book."

        I'm not here for it, she replied.  Mother was a bit put out with you over the damage you caused, but she likes you.  I'm sure you already know that.  She's more or less gotten over everything, and she sent me to watch over you.  And if you needed help, to put a hand in.  You and her are trying to do the same thing, you know.  Keep that book out of the wrong hands.  Since you took it from her, she decided that it was in her best interest to make sure it stays with you.

        "Shiika's helping me?" he said in surprise.

        I certainly hope so, since it's what she told me to do, she said with a bright smile and a wink.

        That bowled him over.  Helping him!  After everything that happened between them, Shiika was helping him!  How amazing!  He thought that she was certainly still miffed over his taking the book from her.  Shiika certainly seemed to be the kind that held grudges, but he saw that he was wrong.  He knew she wasn't lying, because it all made a strange kind of sense.  Shiika did send her, Shiika was giving him some help.

        I'm Anayi, she told him with that same smile.  And we've met.

        They certainly had.  She'd tried to kill him not too long ago.

        He wasn't quite certain what to do.  She was a stranger, but the strange circumstances of everything kept him from recoiling from her like other strangers.  After all, she wasn't the average stranger.

        "Uh, well, thanks," Tarrin said hesitantly.  "What are you going to do now?"

        Oh, I don't know.  Mother only told me to follow you as far as the desert.  We're here now, so I guess I'll go back.  I think she feels that you'll be alright now.

        Tarrin stared at her for a long moment.  He still couldn't believe it, that Shiika had sent one of her brood to help him.  But he couldn't argue with her reason.  It was in Shiika's best interests that Tarrin kept the book.  He guessed that she considered that more important than any personal animosity she felt.

        Sighing, gathering his wits, Tarrin rose up to his full height and stared down at the smaller female.  He was surprised she was strong enough to carry him like that.

        Panting, Sarraya caught up to them.  "You about scared me to death!" she screamed at both of them.  "Who are you, and what are you doing?"

        If the female replied to her, Tarrin didn't hear it.  But she must have, because Sarraya's angry expression lightened immediately, and then she laughed.  "I'm surprised her High And Mightiness bothered to help," she told the female.

        Strange.  He hadn't heard anything.  Perhaps the halfbreed could choose who she wanted to hear her and who would not.

        You certainly look...taller, Anayi remarked to him.  Your face is different.  What happened to you?

        "You can thank your mother for that," Tarrin said grimly.

        What do you mean?

        "When your mumsie drained Tarrin, it aged him," Sarraya said lightly.  "Actually, we should thank her.  Were-cats grow stronger as they age.  That Troll back there certainly looked surprised," she laughed.

        I would imagine it would.  Goblinoids don't like Lycanthropes, and I've felt Tarrin's sting.

        "Say, you think you could give us a lift to, say, Arkis?" Sarraya asked curiously.

        I would like to, but...I am not welcome here, she replied.  Whoever rules this land does not find my presence comforting.  Her anger is almost in the air.

        Tarrin didn't feel anything.  Then again, he wasn't half Demon.  Demons were mystical beings, and their senses worked differently than mortal kin.

        This is as far as I'll go into the desert, and I think I've come too far, she reported.  She looked at Tarrin.  I hope you realize that there are no hard feelings from my mother, or the other Cambisi, she told him.  We were trying to protect the book.  We regret losing three of our brothers, but they were starting to get annoying anyway.  I honestly believe that the book is in good hands now, so I don't consider losing it to you a failure.  You proved you're not going to lose it.

        Her admission and statements surprised him.  "Well, I'm sorry I killed your brothers," he said quietly.  "And I guess I'm sorry for all the trouble.  Did Shiika fix everything?  With the Emperor and all?"

        Anayi laughed aloud.  Fix?  You motivated her to do the one thing I thought I'd never see her do.

        "What?" Sarraya asked curiously.

        She took the throne herself, and she's not hiding what she is, she replied.  And do you know what's surprising?  The Arakites don't seem to care, she said with a look of slight confusion.  They know she's a Demon, yet they don't seem to care about that.  It's almost like they think she'll do a better job than the Emperors.  I don't think they know that she was controlling all the Emperors.

        "Probably not, but now that she has to take responsibility for her decisions, I think you'll see things get better in Yar Arak," Tarrin told her.  "One thing I noticed about Shiika, and that's that she's very smart.  Since she has to rule openly, you'll see her start changing things so things are better for the people.  If only to keep them happy and not thinking of revolution.  Happy people don't rebel."

        I've heard her make similar observations, Anayi agreed.  And I think you're right.  Mother raised us to think for ourselves, to not be dominated by the taint of our dark heritage.  She's a fullblooded demon, yet I think she's more humane than some of her children.

        "That makes me relieved," Tarrin said.  "She certainly kept confusing me.  Trying to kill me one moment, sparing my life the next."

        She likes you.  She is ruthless, Tarrin, she is a Demon and a political power, but she does have softness in her.  You're one of those soft spots.  She really respects you and admires you, and I think part of her is happy you beat her, if only to justify those feelings.

        Tarrin blushed at her praise.  "You should expect chaos from a Demon, Tarrin," Sarraya chuckled.

        Anayi smiled sweetly at him.  I think I've worn out my welcome here, Tarrin, she said, pointing towards the west.  Tarrin turned and looked, and saw a savage sandstorm approaching them, boiling up from the floor of the desert.  It was so big and so close that he couldn't have possibly missed it when he looked earlier.  It screamed of magical creation.  I think the goddess of this land is coming to toss me out the door, so I must be off before she gets here.  She stepped up to him and reached into her belt pouch, then pulled out a small black object.  This is from Mother, she told him, holding it out for him.

        "What is it?" Tarrin asked, holding out his paw.  Anayi's hand disappeared in the expanse of his paw as she set it into his paw, and her fingers were almost caressing as she slid her hand away.

        It was a small device that looked like an amulet, or charm.  It was made of black steel, almost the same metal as the amulet around his neck, and upon it was engraved a woman's face.  He turned it over, and saw that it had a dragon in profile on the back.  A coin?

        Mother made that, Anayi told him.  It's magical.  It works just like your amulet.  Just hold it in your hand and call Mother's name, and she'll be able to talk to you.  But it will only work once, so don't use it unless it's an emergency.

        "Why would I want to talk to her?"

        Mother is a Demon, Tarrin, and she's very powerful, Anayi chided.  If you need help or you're in big trouble, call on her, and she'll send something to help you.  You may not find what she sends to be very nice to look at, but it will be compelled to aid you in any way possible.

        "Another Demon?"

        Mother is a Succubus, Tarrin.  Their strength is manipulation and control.  Mother isn't very physically or magically powerful compared to other Demons, but her charms and games have quite a few Demons more powerful than her bound to her service.  She can call on them any time to do her bidding.

        Tarrin absorbed that, then he blew out his breath.  "Then why didn't she just do that when I was going after the book?  Unless--"  He looked hard at Anayi.  "She let me take the book!"

        You'll have to ask her about that, Anayi replied.  If she did, then she must have had a good reason.  But I don't think she did.  I can't think of any good reason why she would.

        Tarrin couldn't either.  It would be illogical to try to kill him one moment, then turn her back and let him take the book the next.  Shiika may be a Demoness, but she was also a smart Demoness.  She wouldn't do something like that without a very good reason, if she did it at all.  Without proof that she allowed him to take the book, he had to assume that she didn't.

        "I, I guess so," he said.

        I have to go now, Tarrin, she said.  The goddess of this land is picking up steam.  If I don't leave now, I may not get out anytime soon.  She stepped up boldly, something that took Tarrin by surprise, then she reached up and put her hand on the back of his neck.  Before he knew what was happening, she pulled down his head and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.  Be well, Tarrin.  Know that the Cambisi and Mother will be at your side if you need us.

        With a sweet smile, she stepped back, turned and spread her wings, and then vaulted into the sky.  Tarrin stood there for a long moment, staring up at her dwindling form in confusion and wonder, his paw on the cheek she kissed.

        Things just never made any sense in his life.

        He watched her fly away, Sarraya landing on his shoulder, then he turned and looked towards the west, towards the sandstorm.  He had made it.  They were in the desert.  Now, those chasing him could not touch him.  The desert was his sanctuary, his protector.  The might of the Selani and the wrath of Fara'Nae would keep them out, keep the Book of Ages out of their hands.  Now, he figured, they would go to Arkis, to catch him as he came out of the desert.  They knew where he was going.  But that was a worry for another time.  For now, he was safe.

        As safe as he was going to be.  The Desert of Swiling Sands was a dangerous place, full of huge reptillian beasts, all sorts of poisonous animals, and brutal weather.  Even now, on the very edge of the desert, he could feel the heat of the setting sun, feel the heat in the sand under his feet.  Tarrin was very tolerant of heat; the heat of the plains of Saranam had barely registered to him.  But this heat could not be denied, and it made him very glad for Sarraya's cloak.  He would battle the heat, the Selani, the animals of the desert, and the notorious weather of the desert, for late summer and early autumn were the seasons for savage sandstorms.

        But after what he had endured to get to where he was, he felt that crossing the desert was more of a chore than a life or death struggle.  With Sarraya's Druidic magic to help him, they would survive the desert's greatest dangers.  The lack of water and food were not issues.  Only the physical threats of the wastelands of the Selani could challenge him now.

        For a moment, he allowed himself to feel....safe.  If only for a moment.  But there was little comfort in that sensation anymore.

        Sighing, pulling up the hood of the cloak and fishing out his visor, he turned towards the setting