You want a story? Ask Al'Ariq... I'm a dancer. Well... if you insist (I can't resist an audience, no matter what they want!)

My father always said I was good for nothing. Said I'd never succeed in the family business if I didn't apply myself. He arranged for me to have some of the most well-known male tutors in Qarnaa, and, when that failed, some of the prettiest female ones. The former invariably lost my attention, and, while the latter invariably kept it, it was not their lessons I remembered. Bored with matters of economics, literature and history, I decided I could learn more of business through hands-on experience of the informal economics of gaming houses, or at least that's what I told my father when one of his clients mentionned noticing me in one.

I was sixteen at the time. My father decided to teach me responsibility, regardless of my opinion. Hoping that removing me from the distraction of the city would help, my father took me with him on one of his regular silk trading voyages to the Oasis Kingdoms. I knew how important it was to my father that I become a merrchant like him, and, because I loved him, and because he, as the oldest male of our family, was the mouthpiece of Ahrimoun, our ancestor who still watches over us, (blessed be his seed) I did not once complain or ask to return home. Nevetheless, I fear I did not learn very much by my father's side, and he, disappointed, decided to send me back to Qarnaa. On my way home, the caravan was ambushed by bandits. I don't think I had ever moved as fast as I did then. I jumped from the camel I was clumsily riding, and took to the desert, while the bandits, who were more interested in booty than prisoners at the time, assaulted the caravan guards. Although my quick thinking might have saved my life (though, for all I know, the bandits might have ransomed me to my father) it seemed I was now between a rock and a hard place, or, more accurately, in an accursed land where there was neither rocks nor hard places, only endless plains of shifting sand...

I don't know how long I was lost in the desert, but I do know I died there. No one raised in the green delta could survive in such a harsh climate, and surely it was a horrible death of dehydration which claimed poor Deverin. In his place, it left a very different person, a man, and not a boy. Instead of the boredom Deverin experienced with all but the most exciting events, an appreciation for every moment of life, and an inquisitive nature were born, giving him- me, a reason to live on. I found yet another reason soon enough, though, even today, I do not know if what I saw was real or a hallucination. In the desert, in a place with no signs of man ever having walked, there was a beautiful woman, glowing with a light like the desert sun. She knew who I was, she had called me to that place, and she danced for me, in the desert. She danced for me alone. I have never seen any who could dance as she did for me.

I must have passed out, and when I came to, my dancer had vanished. In fact, it seems I had been found by bandits (I don't know if they were the same as those who attacked the caravan). Although I had nothing of value, I was a handsome young boy, in good health (though somewhat the worse for the desert), and they decided I'd fetch a high enough price on the block to pay for my food, water and salt. I was kept in chains with the other prisoners, one of whom was a young man (I say young, but, really, he was probably older than I was!) named Barak. He told me that if I ever escaped from slavery once I had been sold, I would be a marked man. I would have to live on the streets, and, though I might hope one day to return to the Delta , I would need to survive to reach that day. So he taught me a few 'tricks', as he called them... how to grab a couple coins from a mark's pocket, how to hear the tell-tale tread of someone following me, how to speak the language of the street, and, most importantly, it turned out, how to pick a lock.

I was sold in Ghalizhor, as a servant to a noble family. I was lucky I was good looking and graceful enough to be given quite gentle treatment- the Moors love to show off their servants, and a bruised servant is about as appealing as a broken vase. One night after dinner, a nobleman was teasing his younger sister about her inability to find herself a husband. He suggested that it was because she couldn't dance well enough, and suggested that she practice with me. The sister was humiliated, since the implication was she would be unable to find a free man to dance with her, but the noble then turned his mockery on me.

"Nonsense," he said, "The boy is not a slave. On the contrary, he is a highly respected dancer, an instructor, even. Why, he's danced with Ladies of greater quality than even you, my dear- show her your skill, boy."

What could I do? I hadn't danced a step in my life, but the man was drunk, and drunk men are known to break vases... I danced for all I was worth, imitating the only performance that stuck in my mind: the unforgettable dance of the desert woman. I lost myself in the wild gyrations, the twirls and the leaps of the dance. I forgot I was a slave. I forgot I was a man... I forgot about everything but the beat of a music inside my heart, and the steps my feet, my arms, my whole body seemed to know of its own accord. When my dance stopped, I froze, instinctively waiting for applause. To my surprise, I got it. Starting with the man who had mocked me, and then spreading to others in the room... everyone was banging their fists on the table. Nobles, applauding a slave. It was unheard of.

That night, I had another pleasant surprise. The noble's sister visited me in my room. I do not expect you to believe me, but we talked for over an hour, and then, well... she was truly my mistress. It is not this which was pleasant that night, however. The pleasantness I refer to was that I was able to steal a hair pin from her, while she was... distracted, and hide it under my straw mattress. For the next few evenings, when I was not entertaining this noble woman, I was working with the lock which chained my leg to the wall at night. At last, after three nights of probing, I was free.

I joined a group of performers, Salofrin's company, as a dancer. I travelled throughout the Moorish lands, as well as the Delta, perfecting my art, and never having to sleep alone, or in the same dirty, hard beds of the rest of the company. I had only to perform my dance in a city, and the doors to the softest and sweetest smelling bedrooms would open, pried open not by my lockpicking, or even by my appearance, but by the grace I showed dancing.

Well, that could have gone on for some time, but Salofrin had a crazy plan to travel to the Far Kingdoms . We started accross the Zholith Desert. I was, to be honest, feeling somewhat lonely, when the perils of working in such a small, close-nit community became apparent. Because of my grace, I was working on a few acrobatic routines with one of the acrobats, Myrellia. One day, during a practice, she made... advances to me, and I, never being the sort to hurt a woman's feelings (certainly not an acrobat's!), succombed, with very little convincing, even though I knew that Salofrin and Myrellia had been involved since far before I joined the company. When Salofrin found out, as I suppose it was inevitable he would, he was furious. He subject me to the law of the desert, leaving me abandoned with naught but a skin of water, some food, and the clothes on my back...

Am I boring you? Well, hold on a minute more, and I will talk you to when I met the Dervishes, the el-Zarzhanja j'el- Bhazakh ibn-Tabrechi as they call themselves in all their formality. Bhazakh tribe dervishes of the Tabrechi clan.

I met one of the Ta'ax Gharu, those mysterious Hakimas of the desert, once again saved from a hot, dry death by a woman. She was an old woman, but seemed to be strong as those desert folk tend to be. Sheoffered to take me to my Destiny... I never could refuse a woman, and so I followed her through the Crimson Mesas, towards a place called Tel al-Zharnatha. It was the ruins of an ancient city called Zharnath, one of the cities that the ancestors of the devishes once dwelled in. We were almost there, or so said the hakima, when we were attacked by some strange abomination of nature, with bodies of giant birds of some kind (vultures maybe) and with dog-like heads. It was there when I met up with the dervishes, who I now follow in hope that I will encounter this destiny promised by the Hakima.

I sometimes I wonder if following them for such a strange and important-sounding reason as Destiny makes me as mad as they are...I will let Al-Ariq take over from here. He's a much better storyller than I...

When Deverin moves, he is a different creature entirely. There are many kinds of grace: the swift grace of the running antelope, the deadly grace of the pursuing lion... neither of these is the grace Deverin possesses. Watching him, one realizes that there is a rhythm beating within the earth, and, even walking, Deverin moves to this rhythm. It has been said of grace that its possessors seem not to touch the ground. This is also not the case with Deverin. No one would deny that every step he takes touches the earth, and that the earth loves him for it, receiving his every step in a loving embrace.