Chapter Six: Into The Desert

The party looked each other. Suddenly sad at loosing the company of the stout boatman.

"You know Pormas, you are very welcome to come with us." offered Malthus. "We could always use an extra hand."

The villager stuck out his bottom lip and looked resolute. "Go with you lot?! Thank you but I don't have a death wish. The last three weeks as seen me munched by trolls, chewed by a giant plant and nearly captured by some sort of strange fog -  we still don't know what that was! I'm going all the way back to the coast and then finding a safe place to hide away from this war. I don't care how far I have to run I will find somewhere that's never heard of this invasion and then stay there!"

Rodrick realised that this approach would not work with the boatman and changed tact. "If you think coming up river was bad, wait till you try and go back! Not only will you have to contend will everything that you faced last time, the enemy lines will have advanced. You will be heading back into the thick of them!"

The boatman seemed to squirm at this. Obviously the fact that he would have to face these dangers had crossed his mind before.

"Pormas will be fine because Alexander and I are going back with him!" said Meltar in his deep voice. The rest of the party looked at him in shock.

"Of all the low down tricks to play..." started Rodrick. Turadyl intercepted him. "We will let you go if you wish, but why? After you fought so hard to come along in the first place?"

The tall mage was a brisk and cold as ever. "My plans are my own. The three of us shall take our share of the supplies and head back to Pramayama. My pupil and I thank you for your help."

Turadyl looked at the young apprentice. "Is it three to return, Alexander? You are welcome to stay on and become my apprentice if you wish."

Alexander's eyes widened at the offer. He knew how unusual it was for the elf to offer such a thing. Meltar also knew, and his eyes bore into the elf for making the suggestion.

"Thank you Turadyl, I know you would be a great teacher. But my place is with Master Meltar. And anyway," the boys eyes were close to tears. "I miss my family. You will be gone in the desert for months and I don't want to do that. I will return home with them."

Turadyl placed his hand on Alexander's shoulder despite Meltar's stare. "I understand. A family is something you should value." The elf turned to look at Meltar. "Take care of him." The mage shrugged, "I do what I can." Meltar gave his sickly sweet grin one last time.

The next half day was hectic as supplied were pulled off and redistributed among the pack animals the party had brought with them. Pormas also took an axe to the raft. Breaking it into a more manageable size now that only three people and no animals had to ride on it. Then it was time for some farewells. Heartfelt for Pormas and Alexander. Curiosity for Meltar. The three slowly headed off as the rest of the party continued their journey northwards.

"Are we going to walk the whole way to the Temple of Death?" mumbled Rodrick. "I really wish I brought my warhorse," the fighter said for the tenth time since leaving the raft two days ago.

"It would not have fitted!" said Cronwyn. "Now less talking and more walking."

The party had made good time since leaving the raft. The swamp didn't disappear all at once offcourse, but the trees had got steadily thinner until only the ferns were left. Then even these petered out until only the moss was left and the ground was brown and hard. The salt seemed to disappear and so did the insects, which was a blessing. Cronwyn's scarf, now muddy brown rather than red, was put away in his pack.

The days of travel gave the party time to discuss what they were going to do when they reached the caravan, or what to do when they missed it.

"It's not as though caravans are too rare in on the trade where we are heading," asserted Cronwyn. "Despite what Sarras said, if we miss this caravan we can catch the next."

"What should we tell them when we do meet them?" asked Malthus. "I do not think it will be safe to tell them we are out to destroy the Master and free our homeland By Halav!"

"Well," responded Cronwyn, "You might be surprised. Remember these merchants are from the Barony of Slagovich. That is the land directly to the West of the Sind Desert, whereas the Master apparently comes from the North. They have no love of these bandits, or anyone else who disrupts trade."

The old merchant screwed up his face. "I think we could actually use these disruptions to our advantage in making an alibi. Perhaps we could become neutral travellers caught up in the storm. Now, what we need is somewhere remote enough that it is not yet involved in the war." Cronwyn hesitated and led his pony on a few further feet. "That's it!" he exclaimed so loud that Malthus jumped. "Glantri. It is far to the North-east, but still has contacts in the Sind. They have not been in the fighting yet. What do you think."

"Where?" asked Malthus. Turadyl rolled his eyes a little, not at the fact that Malthus didn't recognise the name, but that Cronwyn was preparing a defence based on a country that none of them knew anything about. As he was at the rear of the party he wasn't noticed.

"The Principalities of Glantri are a loose grouping of small territories in the far north. The leader of each is a mage, in fact only those who can wield magic are given full rights there. Its cold. They do a little bit of trading, but mostly just fight with each other. We can claim that we were travelling on a pilgrimage to Slagovich when bandits attacked and we lost our mounts."

"A religious pilgrimage, perhaps?" suggested Malthus, looking for converts.

"Err, no. Actually religion is illegal in Glantri. You will have to disguise your faith while you travel with the caravan."

"What!?" burst out Malthus. "I will do no such thing!"

"Its a good plan!" said Rodrick. "I know a little of the country and it will fit. Turadyl here can be our Lord. Since Cronwyn knows quite a bit he can be a courtier. You and I can be two common guards. We can be on a pilgrimage to see the mages in Slagovich and beyond. All you have to do is keep quiet."

Malthus seemed to be considering it. "Since it seems like the way most likely to make our plan succeed, I will do it. But I will not deny if asked! I would never do that!"

"Agreed!" said Cronwyn. "Are you in Turadyl?"

The elf nodded. "That's Lord Turadyl to you. And you are?"

"Please call me Malast kind Sir. Trouble yourself no further, I share make all arrangements Sir. You there!" he barked at Rodrick. "Can't you see that his Lordship is tired?! Let him ride you for the rest of the day..." Rodrick tightened his lips in a menacing way. "Just kidding!" The old merchant chuckled.

Cronwyn prepared the breakfast the morning they left the swamp and reached the desert. He apologized for the slop that was nothing compared to Alexander's culinary efforts. The ground began to grow loose, and by mid-day was little more than a coarse sand. Coming over a rise, the first they had climbed in the entire journey, they saw the Sind for the first time.

A limitless desert stretched out as far as the eye could see. Low dunes of coarse yellow sand rolled into the horizon. It was big, open and hot.

"Home!" called out Cronwyn, half in jest. "The caravan route is only about a day from here. We should still be well ahead of the Slagovich caravan."

"How experienced are you in these parts?" asked Rodrick.

"I've been all the way through the desert twice, and just half way three other times. So I'm quite familiar with this particular leg, having used it for five return journeys. I'm better than having no guide at all I suppose."

The four of them made their way onto the scorching sands. The two warriors, the cleric and the elf. The water which they had been carrying since the village suddenly became precious. They pushed northwards, using it sparingly. The desert was totally new to Malthus and Rodrick, and they began to realize that it was different to their imagination. Unlike the totally featureless sand in their minds, it was dotted by patches of small thorny bushes. On the windshelted side of the dunes, piles of smooth rocks had been gathered by the weather.

Cronwyn took great joy in pointing these minor landmarks out. This was not useful to Turadyl, who was being reminded more and more of the Ylarium desert in the east which he had spent many years wandering in.

Near the end of the day the party reached what appeared to be a trail made from animal prints heading east and west. It looked well worn from years of use. As the sun sunk below the horizon a viscous cold began to strike the adventurers as the heat of the day began to quickly bleed away. "We can camp now and head westwards in the morning," said Cronwyn. "We'll meet up with a caravan soon I'm sure, and have more than enough provisions if we don't."

The night passed uneventfully, the air dry and cold. At dawn the next day Malthus found it hard to rise from his warm bedding at first, but the sun brought a rapid temperature rise. "It's going to be hot today." Malthus predicted aloud. Cronwyn laughed.

Rodrick was preparing breakfast, Malthus and Turadyl learnt their spells for the day. Turadyl declared that he had cast a weather prediction spell, and would do so for the rest of the journey. This would allow him to predict any incoming sandstorms or other problems.

As the group was planning to get moving a faint black smudge appeared in the distance, to the east. Slowly the smudge grew into the distinct line of a camel train.

"Already!" exclaimed Cronwyn. "We have been lucky."

The group readied themselves and their cover stories as well as they could. The train was still moving towards them slowly, its distance from them distorted by the growing heat haze. Then, through the flickering air a few riders seemed to split of from the lead of the caravan and accelerate towards them.

"They've seen us," muttered Cronwyn. "Get ready."

Five camels with riders beared in, their speed not slowing as they drew closer. All were bearded and had half curved sabres in their hands. "They have Slogivich weapons. That means they are not from the Master's army at least." said Cronwyn.

Four of the riders stopped about fifty yards away. The leader swung in until he was little more than outside of spitting distance. He didn't slow his mount until he was almost on them and then swung down while his camel was still at half gallop. The momentum carried right to Cronwyn, who was standing a few feet in front of the others.

He sheathed his sword and walked to the merchant. Cronwyn bowed and said hello in very halting Slagovichian. The man glanced back at him and said, "We may speak in Thyatian if you wish."

"Ahh, you speak the common tongue. Excellent! I am Malast, servant to our Lord Turadyl." Cronwyn gestured to the elf with a bow. "We were on a journey to Slagovich when we were attacked by brigands. We fount them off, but our mounts were lost. We were wondering if we could join your caravan."

The bearded man stared at Cronwyn, and the merchant wondered for a second if he had even understood. Then with a shrug he responded. "I am Zeid, captain of the guard for Master Surna Lamshar of the Slagovich Barony. We left Baratpur three days ago."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Zeid decided that nothing more needed to be said at the moment. It didn't look as though he really believed this 'Malast'. "I shall return and talk to Master Lamshar. He will have the final say on whether you will be allowed to travel with us." With a leap the soldier was back on his mount and hurtling across the desert with his four countrymen.

The party could do little but wait. "I don't think they believe you Cron... Err, Malast." whispered Rodrick.

"In a way it doesn't matter. The desert tradition is to assist others if it does not place you in danger. This would be within those circumstances."

The caravan drew closer. The first few camels laden with goods had travelled past them before they got a response. What looked like a small hut with silk sides was placed on a particularly stout camel. It was led by a soldier on a camel in front of it to the party and then stopped in front of the party. A white hand brushed the silk aside form the inside. "So it is true! Four Glantrians all the way out here?! But tell me, how did you get through the Hulean forces? They are all the way to Gunga Keep now!" The hidden speaker hissed out his greeting with a soft voice.

Cronwyn did not know what this man hiding in the shadows was talking about, but covered quickly. He assumed that the Master's forces must be these "Huleans". "We skirted around to the south of this trail, close to the borders of the salt swamp. We did not meet any army, just raiders but they were bad enough."

A squeaky chuckle came out from behind the silk. "You risked travelling close to Namkin Ylaka? (Cronwyn recognized the Sindian name for the salt swamp) You were lucky to escape with anything. The place is haunted and the bones of those who venture in now litter the marsh."

Cronwyn paled a bit. He had not known just how lucky they were to survive the swamp. He continued with his story. "I am escorting my Master here into the Savage Baronies. Would we be able to travel with you?"

A white and bald head peaked out into the noon sun, and peered at the four people gathered before him. Surna Lamshar was more than forty, but not hardened by his journeys into the desert. His skin sagged his white hair from a life of opulence rather than hard riding. His blue eyes were rimmed with pink as he squinted. He sighed. "I can't leave you out here. Without camels you won't even make it to the next watering hole." With a piercing whistle that belittled his frail body he summoned Zeid. In jabbering Slagovich he gave a series of orders. Finally he spat out in his accented Thyatian. "You may ride with the other foreigners. Don't make trouble and perhaps even try to lend a hand if we are attacked." His blue eyes bore into Cronwyn from beneath his balding head. "Don't make me leave you and your..." he hesitated, "'Lord', out in the desert!"

Zeid led the party down the party towards the last group of animals. Here a scraggly camel was given to each man. Then the party was left alone.

"Great plan 'Malasy'" said Rodrick sarcastically.

"Quiet soldier," said Cronwyn seriously. "We are not alone."

For the first time the adventurers saw that four others were in this group of foreigners bring up the rear. The caravan had stopped for a few hours to shelter from the hottest part of the day, so the party was able to greet the others on foot.

The first was a large dark skinned man dressed in black leather armour with cut-off sleeves. His clean shaven head gleamed under the bright desert sun.

A thin white man stood behind him, an inquisitive look growing on his face. He wore only a light tunic, but the sweat on it showed that he was suffering even as he tried to stay in the shade.

The third person who was at the end of the caravan was an elf, but very different than Turadyl. He was a lot darker in complexion, and held back even from the other two. He sat in the small patch of shade made by a sheet hanging of his camel, and cleaned his sword. He hardly even looked up as the party approached.

The last in the group was a very young man, almost a boy. He had the dark tanned skin of the desert, and the turban loosely wound around his head also showed he was not from Slagovich. He was of the Sind people, but the blank eyed stare and slight drool from his lips showed that he was not one of their finest.

The tall black man took the initiative and broke the silence. "If they are throwing you back here, then you must be some more foreigner scum like us?!" he said with a twist of his mouth. "I am Shayam, and my pale friend behind me is Kris. We're glad to have some company in this giant sandpit."

Turadyl took the opportunity to tell the story this time, he figured he couldn't do a worse job than Cronwyn. "I am Lord Turadyl of Glantri. This is my major-domo Malast," the elf motioned to Cronwyn. "The two guards are called Malthus and Rodrick. We are journeying to Slagovich across the desert but lost out mounts and had to join up with the caravan."

Shayam and Kris stared at each other. "You lost your mounts?" queried Kris.

"Yes. We were attacked by bandits and they were taken."

Kris smiled broadly. "You were attacked by bandits and let your camels get taken, yet you were not killed?"

Turadyl hesitated. "Yes, that is correct."

Both Kris and Shayam laughed. "Look, if you don't want to tell us the real story, that's fine," said Shayam. "But maybe next time you get your camels taken off you in the desert you might want to realize that it's the same as being killed! No-one survives long out here without one. But no-one likes them either. In any case we're glad to have the company." Both men offered their hands to the group and they were quickly accepted.

As the humans got to know each other, Turadyl walked over to the lone elf. He greeted the stranger in the elven tongue. "You're not from Alfheim, are you?" the stranger replied in Thyatian. "I could tell from your accent straight away."

Turadyl paused carefully before answering. He choose to continue the conversation in the human tongue. "You are correct. I am Lord Turadyl of Glantri, and who am I addressing?"

"The children call me 'Ark', since that is the closest they can get to saying my name." Ark looked over at the throng of humans getting acquainted, and his tone turned cold.  "I don't know how they survive."

Turadyl could not remember a time when he thought the same way. But then he had been raised in the company of humans since he could remember. In fact he had never sought out an elf to befriend before, except the one who had taught him magic. Sounds from around the camp showed that the caravan was soon to be on the move again. He decided to leave the conversation at that for the moment.

That only left the young Sindian boy out of the introductions. He hung back and swayed from side to side on his feet, with a slight grin on his face. Cronwyn asked the others about him. "I don't know," shrugged Shayam. "He was here when we joined. I think he a little slow." The last sentence was said with the crossing of eyes. "He cleans up around the camp and brings water when needed. Some of the caravan guards called him 'Ghitu', we're guessing that's his name and not a Slogovichian insult."

The camels in front of them were moving by now. The whole party mounted up and started to follow them.

The afternoon was uneventful and over the next few weeks the party grew to know the routine that was to guide them for the next month. The caravan travelled in the morning and afternoon, resting at night and mid-day. It was dangerous to travel in the heat of noon and got too cold to travel at night. Kris pointed out that travelling in the darkness was also dangerous because of the number of creatures coming out of their hidden holes looking for food. "You can hear them wandering around outside the camp sometimes. They don't sound nice."

The four 'Glantrian' travellers found that the company of the caravan wasn't pleasant, with the exception of Shayam and Kris. Ark was also ostracized from the rest of the caravan, but didn't talk to the other foreigners anyway, even Turadyl.

The slow witted Ghitu spent a lot of time with the travellers, but it was hard to communicate with him. He didn't seem to speak Thyatian, and his Sind was also very halting. The boy tried to make himself useful though. He was constantly running water up and down the caravan, and was unfailingly cheerful. That was why Lamshar probably let him hang around.

Cronwyn also got the chance to ask about the name Lamshar had called the Master's forces. He had referred to them as "Huleans". He found the time to question Shayam.

"That's where they come from," said the dark skinned man frankly. "I heard the Sindians talking about them in Baratpur. They seemed to think of them as devils. Which was fair enough considering how easily they are swinging across the desert."

Cronwyn was confused. "I thought they were the desert nomads," he asked.

Shayam shook his head. "The desert nomads are no more than cannon fodder for the Hulean troops. The nomads, and the monsters that have arrived from somewhere, are numerous but poorly organized. The Hulean people live for war they say. But I don't know anything for certain, everything is just guesses."

"Still," said Cronwyn. "Rumours are often based on truth. Thank you for sharing this with me, I did not know how lucky we were to get through Baratpur in time."

Shayam nodded. "The whole east is closed off now. We will be the last caravan heading west until this war is finished - one way or another."

The man's words troubled Cronwyn. "Don't you feel concerned that your homeland is in danger?"

"What can I do? I don't want to join the army and I am only one man. We must all make our way through this world as best as we can."

Cronwyn asked no more questions.

Chapter Seven
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