Kaustir, Chapter 3

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Amalia's soft spoken voice brought Takeda back to reality. "Days of my past haunt my dreams Amaila. As if a constant reminder of my sins and follies." His voice low and sarrowful. He turned his head to Amalia, a grim look on his face, "My family was taken by the one man I was powerless to stop." he trailed off. "Amalia do you know of the warrior called the Desert Wind?" Takeda's face gave an anxious look.
 
Matil leaped to Amalia's shoulders and curled up around her neck.

"No I'm afraid not. I suppose as General I should familiarize myself with famed warriors."

The woman looked at the sleeping forms of her party, wondering what dreams lurked in their minds and how often those dreams transformed themselves into nightmares.

"Was he responsible for your family's death?"
 


The Glass Oasis
Two Days from Avarath...


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New Orders
Lut had taught her to endure the worst kinds of pain, for hours without breaking etiquette, if she had to. Nu made sure to whimper, to cower and crawl, to plead for mercy, everything he hated, everything to bring down just one more blow from his staff. Until he can’t take anymore and he tosses her away to feed.
Nu...Order...
Her comprehension was fading. After ten years, she had to strain to understand the words, during such times.
“I’m reassigning you from hunting Knox. Return to your post and await my order.”
Face down on the dirt floor, her black hair obscuring her, Nu allows herself a secret smile.


They were fifty miles west of the Northern Furnace, and even at this distance, the air was polluted from the toxins in the ash.

The High Inquisitor’s bodyguard rode a swift oryx ahead of the caravan into towering obsidian glass structures. On either side of her, the Wraiths darted in and out of sight amongst the formations. Her face was concealed by a breather mask, her resin-painted body protected from exposure by thick hemp clothing. Her enormous shawl swaddled her.
Together, they scouted the safest path for their comrades identifying active geysers by the sand melted to glass around them. White clouds of scalding steam billowed in the distance, as boiling water from the Ocean Beneath showered onto the black glass. The Glass Oasis would punish a careless step by melting flesh from bone.
It was Hell. It was nightmare. It was home.



Secret Stories
After Nu staggered from the Inquisitor’s barrack, bruised and bleeding, no one questioned her lavish request for a cup of hot water for a soothing tincture, or a few precious moments of privacy to clean herself up. The faux pas she had committed at the trial, and the resulting punishment would gain her these two precious commodities. Steam and solitude.

Never breach their perception of reality unless she wanted their reaction to be violent and rash. Lut had taught her that. She would have to conceal her actions within the ordinary, to be the most dangerous when she knelt. Nu knelt now in the darkness, holding Knox’s envelope over the steaming cup. With aid of the steam and her knife, Nu gently prized the wax seal away, careful not to damage it.

Nu had gathered the black feathers, repaired the pillow seam. Later, she reported to Lut Sar that her search of Knox’s barracks yielded no clues to his current whereabouts. As a true citizen of Dorgrad he had nothing.

Within the envelope was a page torn from a book. She had never read a book, but she’d seen them confiscated and burned by the Inquisition. She had never seen the kinds of books this page came from. The parchment was thick and fine, made to remain pure white despite the caress of a thousand fingers. It was not from a book of crudely penned manifesto or gospel. All of the letters were the same size, the same shape, the same pitch black ink. The letters formed a near perfect square on the page.
Nu had never seen letters like these, or one who could write them in such a way. Above the alien scrypt was a symbol in black and white. A strange plant, the bank of an enormous oasis, an avian boy flying towards a single star.

Nu could not read the page in her hands.


The Wraiths continued ahead, their shadow bodies blending with the hellscape. Nu slowed the pace of her oryx, allowing time to regroup with the rest of the caravan.

 
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Flashback
Warden Bracht fastened the last strap of the saddle, then led the Riding Gecko between the iron poles of the tent. The animal was spritely, well-fed and freshly groomed. A stark contrast with the battle-worn rider it would be carrying.

"Be sure it wears the blackfur coat when it sleeps at night. To keep it warm."

The Ipari passed the reins to Rakar, and in the silence they stood. Outside, the sound of the convoy gearing up made music with sandstorms.

"Black Scale."

Rakar frowned and looked up into the mask of the woman.

"My son called you that, when he brought you the water."

A memory. The Long March. Rakar had survived. He alone. The draken had lain in the sand of the Red Tower, the crowds encircling, while the Czar rode on in glorious procession. Like a piece of detritus he had been shed. And yet he lived, and clung to life within the walls of Zirako. Death hung like the shadows of the keep, yet among them came a boy, waterskin outstretched, haloed by the desert sun, and smiling.

"I should have called him back, of course," spoke Warden Bracht. "The Long March was for thieves, rapists, lepers." She looked up at the towering draken. "But I was to enter the Ipari Guard that same week. So my time of protecting him had come to an end. A mother of Kaustir must not keep their child from danger... nor shield their eyes from miracles."

Her gloved hand rested on Rakar's shoulder. "You survived the Long March for a reason, Rakar. Perhaps to meet me again, and fight with me in Dorgrad. Perhaps to offer compassion, as a boy offers water, in this draken rebellion. Or perhaps something more... something none can see in clouds of black."
She left him with the gecko and stepped away, towards the tent opening. There she was framed there by wooden pikes where traitors of the Insect Cult lay impaled. Neither the first nor last blood to be shed in these troubled times.

"What happened to your son?"

The question drew her back. She turned and pondered, looking to the ground, as if memory soaked there. The Ipari mask concealed her sadness.

"He became a thief. As you once were. But never stood up from the sand."


Rakar was draped in a thick cloak to keep the sandstorms from fraying his hide. Not even the tough scales of a Draken could withstand such punishment for too long. Like before, he wore a breather mask to keep from inhaling the toxins.

They were approaching the Glass Oasis now. He had seen this place before, though normally it was safer to avoid it. Perhaps they were more pressed for time than he thought. It was a sight to see. Like a thorn covered rose, it was beautiful to look at, but just as dangerous as any other place in Kaustir.

The hulking Draken rode next to Amalia, keeping to his duty as bodyguard. His thoughts however, kept drifting back to his conversation with the Warden, and the Long March. It haunted him still. It had been over a decade since then, but the mark it left on his mind and spirit was everlasting. He was no thief. He was only doing what he had to do... But he survived. Perhaps it had been his determination to prove his innocence that kept him going, or a desire for vengeance against those who wronged him. Maybe both.

The eruption of a geyser not far away snapped him back to reality. He looked around, noticing Arania not far behind. He remembered the promise he made to her then, to keep her safe in Avarath. Would he be able to keep that promise? He hoped so... No, he would. He would keep them all safe, even that fool K'Jol. He would do it because he had to. Because he owed it to his brother. Because he had failed once, and never wanted to experience that again.
 
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Flashback
Warden Bracht fastened the last strap of the saddle, then led the Sand Tiger between the iron poles of the tent. The animal was spritely, well-fed and freshly groomed. A stark contrast with the battle-worn rider it would be carrying.

"Be sure to treat any wound to the paws. The Tigers have low immunities."

The Ipari passed the reins to K'Jol, and in the silence they stood. Outside, the sound of the convoy gearing up made music with sandstorms.

"Thank you."

K'Jol frowned and looked up into the mask of the woman.

"Dorgrad owes you a debt, as the Red Nation owes all draken."

A memory. Bracht and K'Jol, back to back between the insects, their arms entombed in carapace. They had each had the same idea - to turn the mantis blades of the drones against them. Like hybrid insects they cut a swathe through segmented horrors and drove forward the Ipari advance.

"You of all draken have reason for bitterness, K'Jol. The badge of general was waiting for a warrior without equal." She looked up at the towering draken. "But if you take one thing from your time in Dorgrad... remember this. In the desert we do not get what we deserve. But we get what we need."

Her gloved hand rested on K'Jol's shoulder. "You have the power to end this rebellion, K'Jol. You are draken - the desert blade, the champion of a people who are the muscle and claw of this empire. Remind your friends and your enemies of that, and we will be one again."

She left him with the tiger and stepped away, towards the tent opening. There she was framed there by wooden pikes where traitors of the Insect Cult lay impaled. Neither the first nor last blood to be shed in these troubled times.

"And if they won't listen?"

The question drew her back. She turned and pondered, looking to the ground, as if memory soaked there. The Ipari mask concealed her smile.

"You are a hard creature to ignore."




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K'Jol stayed in the back of the group as he had the first time the group had come upon Dorgrad. A grim expression was upon the Draken's face as he looked around the sun scorched desert, reveling on the words of Warden Bracht. He was astonished by the fact that even one person had put their trust in him. The famed warrior knew that most people in the group disliked him, but it was just his nature. His eyes went up to the sky of the desert for a moment as he repeated the scenes of his first blunder in his military life in his head.

"So much blood... I was so weak then. There was nothing that I could do to stop them, but now I have power..."

His hands clenched the reigns as he looked over to Rakar.

"His words were right... it's not about race. It's about who you are inside. Those Draken in Avarath... those terrorizing the citizens. They must die."

 
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Flashback
Warden Bracht fastened the last strap of the saddle, then led the camel between the iron poles of the tent. The animal was spritely, well-fed and freshly groomed. Its rider, General Amalia Lortik, was in the tent packing her meager belongings into a leather sack. The crystal she found in the mines was wrapped around a leather cord which she placed on her neck.

"There's a glanoman stick in the saddlebag. It will put fire in the camel's legs if you need it."

The Ipari passed the reins to Amalia, and in the silence they stood.

"Wear the sword on your right hip."

Amalia frowned and looked up into the mask of the woman.

"When you return to Court, wear the sword on your right."

A memory. Lukesh seizing her fingers, pressing the glass shard to her throat. Their bodies together, one soft and wilting, the other solid. The fire in her cheek, her neck muscles pulling as the blow was struck. The floor receiving her. The wrenching of her hair.

Amalia clenched her fists. That would not happen again.

"When next you meet the Czar he will try to take your head. He will draw with his left hand, from a soldier to his right." She looked to her fellow officer. "If he wounds you, or if you pull away, all this will be for nothing. Wear the sword on your right. Draw and parry. And look him in the eye when you do it."

Thoughts of Amalia missing the sword strike filled her mind, and it made her anxious. She carried so many wounds and scars.

The Warden's gloved hand rested on the general's shoulder. "There is nothing in you that you have not put there yourself, Amalia. In Dorgrad the bedrock is all. That is why we built the city here and nowhere else. The desert is not taking you. These men are not changing you. The blood is not staining. It was Amalia who defeated the Turbatus Hive... she just happened to be General when she did it."

No, it was Amalia who was crushed under a pile of rubble. It was the others, the ones tasked to protect and train me, who fought off the monsters. They defeated the Hive, not me.

Warden Bracht left her with the camel and stepped away, towards the tent opening. There she was framed there by wooden pikes where traitors of the Insect Cult lay impaled. Neither the first nor last blood to be shed in these troubled times.

Amalia hoisted herself onto the camel and paused. "What were you, before the Czar made you Warden?"

The question drew her back. She turned and pondered, looking to the ground, as if memory soaked there. The Ipari mask concealed her smile.

"A sword untempered."



Amalia ensured the breather mask on her camel was tight and secure, but the animal did not like crossing this place. The heat, the steam, and the glass made the animal antsy, making Amalia's journey a sore and jumpy one. She tried to get her camel under control - for she was riding in front of her party once more - but the thing wouldn't cooperate. She tried pulling on the reins, cooing, and petting, but nothing was working. Unfortunately, the general forgot about the stick the Warden gave her.

Amalia decided to leave the beast be. It wasn't the first time she got saddle sores, and this wouldn't be the last. She just wished she had a smoother ride; the Glass Oasis was a sight she'd never seen before and Amalia wanted to enjoy it without the threat of falling off. Despite all of the obvious hazards, the glass was pretty despite its warped shape.

Then she remembered the shard pressed against her neck and Amalia felt differently about the location.

The Warden told her to use the sword to parry, but Amalia wanted to use her Advent instead. That's what she did at the tournament, and that was what made her General of the First Army. But Amalia understood the message. By parrying with her sword, it would tell Lukesh that she had grown, that she was becoming a warrior for the nation.

That conclusion drew bile into her mouth.

She did not wanted to be molded into a war machine. At her core she wanted to stay a healer, and that's what she wanted the people to remember her by. Amalia would parry, but she would do it in her own way.

With the sun setting behind them Amalia spurred her ride forward - what a miracle the camel obeyed! - and rode alongside Nu. Their introductions were brief, but Amalia took care to remember the woman's name.

"Excuse me Nu, but should we make camp soon?"
 
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Along the path in flux ...

"We not stop here." Nu's Zirakanese was stilted as she divided her attention between the Wraiths, coordinating their reports and raising her own signal flags to the caravan behind them. A fire scarab - the last of them - fell victim to a false glass bridge, a vitreous finger that looked solid from the rocks that showed through underneath. The Wraith on top leaped off the insect, and slowly made her way back to the caravan, where she was replaced with a fresh rider. The General drew back in surprise at such casual expenditure of life, but no one else seemed to pause.

The Path of Bones, by Vesuv. To cross Kaustir in a straight line from city to city, sacrifices had to be made. The landscape along the path morphed constantly, defying any attempts at mapping out a safe route. The standard route didn't even need to be mapped - the faster you wish to fly, the closer you border the wastes that lie directly between Kaustir's greatest cities, so said Vesuv.

"We only make good time if we are stopless."


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They spent the day moving through the glass oasis, then the night capitalizing on the gained time. The sand was smooth and the caravans paused to change to sleds, gliding along the tips of flowing sand dunes. The Nocturne's sun was high in the sky now, and most of the General's party was sleeping (once again) inside the sleds, the soft hiss of sand making for blissful sleep.

Lut rode outside, a Wraith's cloak draped around his shoulders. As they were cold creatures by nature, it was even more important for them to stay warm during the night, when the temperature could drop low enough to make ice. Nu slept in his carriage.

"Spread out." Sets of Wraiths rode sand boats, curved chitinous shells that they deftly rode up and down the dunes with minimal effort. Their caravan was able to travel lightly, having left the Inquisitors (the most ornate, heaviest, and wasteful part ... but appearances were worth their weight in raw iron ore) at Dorgrad, some to journey back to Zirako in due time. The four Wraiths assigned to the General stayed near her sled, apparently working on a different set of instructions than their normal chain of command.

"Nu ..."

"What are you hiding from me."
A quiet hiss of frustration, easily lost among the crickets. His hands tightened, where he crossed his arms. The taste of blood lingered at the back of his throat.

He leaned back in the carriage's seat. Warden Bracht's son too. He was trouble. Lut's thoughts flew as the shooting stars in the night, connecting the dots ...
 
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"She's...well, she's something a little strange. That's what she noticed, that she's not a woman like all the others. She seems all wrapped up in herself. Lost in a world she carries deep inside her."*
Shae - Avarath: Some Days Past, darkred
[dash=darkorange]For the first time all day, the girl had gotten the attention she'd wanted.

Pity she was not awake to witness the crowd.
Mirror's Dreamings
Darkness. Darkness first, and then a heat so terrible she could almost feel it, smell it, the hot, iron tang of it. Fire?

Or blood?


"He's still here..."

A voice like the caress of a sharp blade over hot sand.

"He put the Weapon... in me... and I drank... and drank... till I loved him."

Her chest begins to tighten. Panic. Fear.

"You cannot nest here, Holy Mother. Your children will be mad."

A second voice joins, quietly reverent. The first rebuttals, unspoken promises of an ill-fated love.

"My children will be fire!"

Figures seem almost to dance in the darkness. An Avian, black-winged, face obscured by a heavy cowl. Behind him, an army of night broken from the sky.

Before him, a spider dangles from her web. Her wings are of a different variety entirely.

She shivers despite the heat. The pressure closes in around her chest, the heat too thick to breathe. And all the while her head feels lighter, fainter. She's going to pass out. But not before she hears those last words.

"...never come again..."

"I love you."
Shae came to with a gasp and was immediately aware something had gone, if not wrong, then very badly
off.

For one thing, she was flat on her back, the sun pouring orange through tightly shut eyelids. Sweat pooled with dust to make hot mud between her back and the packed earth of the small bazaar at the eastern edge of the city. She could feel Ombre chittering in a combination of anxiety and irritation, coiled, as usual, in incorrigible masses of copper-colored hair.

She tended to start and end the show on her feet.

She also tended to start and end without an audience, and if the vibrations in the earth around her head were no indication, the voices, rough with mingled concern and excitement, certainly were -- there were people here. People watching her, nonetheless. More, at least, then there had been when she'd promised to read some old woman's future in a mirror she'd made just three days ago.

Shae opened her eyes. A dozen pairs and half again more stared back at her, waiting for an explanation.

She blinked once and peered to the side where the mirror she'd been using to "scry" had shattered when she'd collapsed. Ruddy skin went three shades darker as she peered abashedly up at her first patrons in days.

"Er...do I owe someone money? I'm very sorry, that...wasn't supposed to happen."

Just precisely what had happened, though, remained yet to be seen.


[/dash]

*From "Kiss of the Spider Woman" (1985)
 
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Flashback


Warden Bracht fastened the last strap of the saddle, then led the Riding Gecko between the iron poles of the tent. The animal was spritely, well-fed and freshly groomed. A stark contrast with the battle-worn rider it would be carrying.

"Don't overfeed it. Geckos had better reflexes when they're hungry."

"A Gecko? I've never ridden a gecko before... but how much different from a camel can it be?" he thought. "Thank you warden." he bowed.

The Ipari passed the reins to Takeda, and in the silence they stood. Outside, the sound of the convoy gearing up made music with sandstorms.

"Mephran Root."

Takeda frowned and looked up into the mask of the woman "Excuse me?"

"I chew it sometimes, when the nightmares are too much."

A memory. Bracht handed the sword to Takeda, wrapped in chain-links, as was Dorgradi tradition. Behind her, two metalsmiths stood proudly in the light of the magma vents and waited for him to inspect it. Takeda stifled a yawn, and though he smiled as he examined Amalia's gift, his eyes were bloodshot. Sleep had been scant. And as he slid the blade into its new sheath, he caught the Warden watching him.

"There are times I dream about my son. I lost him, an age ago, to a fate less certain than death." She looked to the fellow warrior. "Yet in my dreams he is dying, and I am helpless. I chew the root to forget him... so I do not see his face in the wastes."

Her gloved hand rested on the man's shoulder. "The desert makes reflection in its people, and for this we all suffer. Kaustir is ruled by the nocturne, the draken, by the hard of heart and those like me, who turn from nightmares. We have all forgotten. We are deserts, unmoved by death. But not you, Takeda. You do not have to follow us."

"The scars on my heart are to deep for me to forget anything. I am sorry about your son."

She left him with the gecko and stepped away, towards the tent opening. There she was framed there by wooden pikes where traitors of the Insect Cult lay impaled. Neither the first nor last blood to be shed in these troubled times.

"Could I have some Mephran Root? It's not that I want to forget.... I just want to be able to sleep at night." Takeda called out

The question drew her back. She turned and pondered, looking to the ground, as if memory soaked there. The Ipari mask concealed her smile.

"I'm fresh out."

Takeda
"Woah! WOAH! Calm you blasted beast!" Takeda was getting bucked and whipped around like a feather in the breeze. His newly acquired riding gecko proved harder to ride then he thought. A sigh of relief left his mouth as the caravan switched to the sleds. Takeda dismounted his gecko and onto a sled. Surprisingly the creature kept up with the caravan despite its owner departing from its back. The swordsman managed to get a few hours of precious sleep, this time without his past haunting him. When he awoke he ate his dinner and remounted the gecko. He pulled up along side Arania "You did well in Dorgard. You healers are very good at what you to and it isn't easy." he smiled
 
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FLASHBACK
The moment he was done in Chamber 10 and had been dismissed by Lut Sar, Theo raced up stairs, traversing sections of Dorgrad he had never set hoof on before. If time were more forgiving, he would take the opportunity to look around and explore. He'd never been so close to the surface and hopefully, soon, he would be closer still.

He approached Amalia once she had mounted her camel, seeing her at eye level for the first time.

"Forgive my lateness, First General. Nils of the Ipari wishes me to accompany you in his place. I would like to honour my friend's wishes... If-if it pleases you." He reached up and removed Nils' ring from its safe place on one of his horns, and handed it to her. "If so, please wear this - or keep it about you. It is magnetic. It will allow me to always find you, as it once let me find him."


A MINER MISPLACED

The land above was terrifying. Vast openness above him, darkened by swirling ash and debris; hills and mountains rendered in lifelike shapes by the sandstorms; the sun proving a formidable heat, and a very different sort of heat to the magma. The Glass Oasis left him in awe, but made him jumpy and he resorted to slowing down to avoid mishap.

But the most difficult thing to get used to? The light. It burned. He walked blind for the first half of the day, until he could stomach squinting. Theo had traveled at the back of the group, almost entirely covered by a large beige sheet hastily loaned to him by the Ipari to protect him from the sun's heat, but did little for the brightness.

When he wasn't struggling to comprehend the landscape, he found himself second-guessing his choices over the last week. He didn't regret the last-minute decision to come, and was grateful to Nils for the opportunity. However, he wished he had had more time to think it through - life was different now, fast-paced and dangerous, even murderous, and he was lost in it.
 
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Flashback
Warden Bracht fastened the last strap of the saddle, then led the camel between the iron poles of the tent. The animal was spritely, well-fed and freshly groomed. A stark contrast with the battle-worn rider it would be carrying.

"This one likes movan berries. He'll carry you to Edelon for a handful of those."

The Ipari passed the reins to Arania, and in the silence they stood. Outside, the sound of the convoy gearing up made music with sandstorms.

"Blood Diamond."

Arania frowned and looked up into the mask of the woman.

"That's what my parents called your kind."

A memory. Bracht hissed as Arania eased the mantis claw fragment from her thigh. The chitin had plunged deep then snapped off when the Ipari parried. A clean wound. Arania pressed an oil-soaked dressing to the breach and with a last twist pulled the fragment clear. It clattered down between the barrack bunks, between the beds where other patients lay in aftermath of the battle. Arania took up a needle and thread, and turned back to see the Warden watching her.

"You are nocturne and yet you still feel. You still care... and mend what will come to break again." She looked to the fair-faced blood drinker. "Like a diamond, the long years of fire and burden do not dull you."

Her gloved hand rested on the girl's shoulder. "Few have travelled as you have travelled, Arania - even your fellow nocturnes. Like the Czar they have seen only desert, known only the hardships of the Burning Empire. If there are lessons found in the beauty beyond, they must be taught. This rebellion was caused by nocturne pride as much as draken grievance. We must heal those wounds now."

She left her with the camel and stepped away, towards the tent opening. There she was framed there by wooden pikes where traitors of the Insect Cult lay impaled. Neither the first nor last blood to be shed in these troubled times.

"And who would listen to me?"

The question drew her back. She turned and pondered, looking to the ground, as if memory soaked there. The Ipari mask concealed her smile.

"Wounded men will always listen to the healer."


ARANIA VELKA
[dash=magenta]Remaining in the young healer's mind was The Warden's words, and she was holding onto the reins as she stared at the scenery in front of her. The Glass Oasis was a truly frightening sight, but Arania's mind was more interested in the materials with which the place was made - how a thing this striking could have come into existence. Her fingers prickled for taking samples with her home, but she knew that that home was no more. Because of everything that had happened, Arania could no longer return to the life she had had before.

The day seemed to pass in a flash as they made their way through the harsh territory, their bodies covered by cloaks to avoid the scorching sun. Arania was riding second-to-the-back, the only one behind her being Theo. He seemed to be in a lot of pain, but she knew that it was caused from his lack of sunlight after having been underground for so many years. There was nothing she could do to help him. Obviously, this pained the young woman, so she forced herself to not think about it.

Her mind flickered to Rakar. He'd told her that he would take her to her shop if they got the time. Something deep inside her doubted that the place was even there.

If there's still something left of that place, I'll burn it down... from now on, I can't afford to be too careful. I have important books in there, disguised as mere journals, and the one collection of data I have from my research... I'll at least have to get that. If I don't, who knows what that knowledge might be used for... no one's ever thought of something like that before, maybe they'll just think that it's a madman's rambling... I could hope so.

As Arania was busy thinking to herself, she noticed that some had gotten into sleds to get a good nights sleep, but she couldn't do the same, as her head was clear like it was morning. She was not tired at all. She pulled the hood farther over her face, trying to focus on the scenery in front of her instead of the people around her. It was not really much of a situation to be talkative in, and Arania was not person most fond of speech. She found it to be unnecessary in many situations, deeming her as unsociable.

A wounded man will listen to his healer, huh...?[/dash]
 
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Her dinner wasn't agreeing with her, not that she ate a lot of it. Lizard jerky and fungi, that was what Amalia had, and the small burps escaping her lips told her that it would not stay down if she continued laying in the sled. If she had to sleep alongside the neck of her camel to avoid the nausea, then Amalia would do so.

She whistled softly for the creature and it clopped to her side. After wrestling with its reins, the General managed to climb on and sighed in relief. Her stomach stopped with its grumblings, but her head still throbbed. Resting her cheek against her camel's neck, Amalia thought about sleeping. Would it be safe to let her camel travel on its own? Would it follow the pack?

Amalia pulled up next to K'jol's sled, wondering if the draken was awake. After his fight with Rakar the General stayed away from him, but he too spoke with the Warden before they left. She wondered what sort of sage advice was given to K'jol before they departed.

She threw her reins at K'jol and said, "Could you tie this to your sled?" Either way, her reins or her words would wake the soldier up. She waited until he was finished before she asked,

"What did the Warden say to you?"
 


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K'Jol had not drifted to sleep and was instead laying awake when the reins had hit him. A low growl came from the throat of the Draken before he sat up straight, seeing that Amalia and her mount had come in arms length of his sled. He eyed her for a moment, wondering why she wanted to be so close to him or hear about the conversation between him and the Warden but he decided that it wouldn't be too much of a hassle. He pulled the reins closer, almost throwing the animal she rode off balance before tying them to a piece of wood that jutted out of the sled. U'Sil slithered down his arm and onto the side of the slide, giving a hiss to Amalia.

"What she said was not that important. She told me that I had a reason to be bitter this whole time. The position of General was waiting for me and I was so close to achieving my goal and then you took it out of my grasp..."

He then paused for a moment, before continuing on once again.

"She also told me that we of the desert do not get what we deserve, but what we need. Her last words shocked me. She said that I had the ability to end the rebellion. It was if I had someone finally put their trust in me for the first time, and I do not know how to describe how I felt afterwards."

He entwined his fingers together before looking her deep in the eyes.

"You do not know how lucky you have all had it. I started my life from the greatest shit hole and worked my way up... I do not know where you all were born but for me I just left my birthplace. If you do not understand, then I will show you..."

The hulking Draken turned himself around so that his back was facing her. He slowly lifted up the bottom of his breastplate before well over half of his back was shown, revealing the scars of where he used to be whipped.

 
A pang of sympathy and regret. Amalia looked down at the trail of sands made by his sled before meeting K'jol's eyes. She knew that many people wanted the position of General, and they were robbed of the chance by her, a healer. Amalia didn't want to see their disappointment or resentment, but K'jol was the living embodiment of both those emotions and it was a painful confrontation.

Amalia listened, as every good doctor would, but her body stilled as K'jol lifted to show the scars on his back, scars of past whippings. She swallowed. Calmly, she stood straight in her saddle and lifted her shirt - for Amalia had changed out of her saree when she tried to sleep - and showed her own scars.

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The bandages around her ribs hid the worst of her whippings, but not a single spot on her back was unmarked. From the top of her shoulder to the small of her back, scars crisscrossed over each other, fresh ones and old ones.

"My father did this to me."

As Amalia lowered her shirt, she wondered if this revelation would offer some connection between her and K'jol. She prayed it would, there was very little the two of them agreed upon, until now.
 


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K'Jol lowered the back of his breastplate before turning around to look at the scars upon her back. His eyes widened at the injuries upon her body, and he slowly clenched his fists. He had hoped that no one else would experience the pain that he had but it seemed as if all wishes were not meant to come true. A frown was upon his face as U'Sil slithered in between his legs, coiling up into a circle shape.

"It seems as if we are bound by the same injuries. I didn't know that crimes like this would occur outside of Dorgrad but it seems as if I am wrong. I hoped that no one else would have to experience the pain that I once had to feel everyday, but dreams do not always come true."

He banged a fist against his breastplate before placing his hands upon hers.

"Now that I know we're one in the same I shall not let injuries befall you like the ones you have experienced. Rakar may be your shield and Takeda your sword but you can have me as your willpower. Always keep in mind that you've had someone in the same shoes as you, and never falter."

A sigh left the famed warrior before he let go of her hands, looking at those in front of the duo.

"I decided that it was now my time to give some words of encouragement since I have been an ass lately. But keep one fact in mind... if anyone else hears about what I said to you a certain individual's head will be rolling across the ground."

A small smile crept upon his lips as he leaned against the side of the sled.

 
Running, running, look back, he's almost on me, keep running, he leaps forward, I can feel the fangs prick my skin -

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"Wake up."

Nu lay inside the cramped compartment, curled with knees to her chest. Her entirely defenseless position, weapons out of easy reach and one eye against the ground, conveyed the absolute trust she held in Lut; that he would not kill her, no matter what. It was a small victory for her, but unknown to her, a crushing defeat for him.

"Sit next to me. The Sun is beautiful."

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The Sun? What Sun? Nu only saw a million imitations in the inky black sky, with the largest one, the Moon, casting its dim light upon those who lived under it. Perhaps he was teaching her about one of the Nocturne's countless weaknesses; their desperation to cling to the light, thrust for their entire lives into the dark. She glanced at him out of the corner of his eye; he leaned back on his arms and gazed, pupils dilated to reflect the stars above. It was hard, at that moment, to claim he was the one who did everything but kill her, but then she remembered the exact same face as he watched the pyre burn, chocking blue-black-purple smoke rising from the charred forms inside.

"I decided that it was now my time to give some words of encouragement since I have been an ass lately ..." The scarab fluttered lazily in the air, glowing the faintest white with Lut's advent. It returned, drifting lazily onto the vulture aux's head, legs shuffling through the matted fur as it scrabbled to find purchase.

I suppose Dorgrad was the team building that the General needed. He considered pulling the Wraiths he had assigned to her away, but left that decision for another time.

He shifted in his seat, away from her. "You stink." The weight of his accusation hung as heavy in the air as the stench from her body, that the resin could not hide.
 
Dorgrad Chamber Six
"Mother-fucktress son of a bitch-cunt whore!"

There were few possessions in Dorgrad, and fewer still in the tunnel outside the Chamber Six feeding hall. With no table to flip, painting to rip or vase to smash, Gwendolyn had to settle on arching his back and yelling at the ceiling. Flecks of rock dust fell on his face.

"Are you finished?" Nassad had his arms folded, one hand on his chin. He had taken the news much better.

"I told you we should have ridden fire scarabs!" Gwendolyn paced with flaring wings, still seeking something to knock over. "You and your thrice-damned death wagon. We've lost hours! Days!"

In front of them, a pig-faced miner stared at the scene. There was gold in his hand but he was no longer sure what he'd been paid for.

"When did he leave?" Nassad asked the worker.

"First light, mate. Inquisitor an' all. He went with 'em. Reckon it wuz 'im wot cancelled Theo's contract."

"He knows. Someone knows!" Gwendolyn continued ranting at the back of Nassad's head. "Why else would this one - particular - minotaur be whisked away in a fucking imperial convoy?"

Nassad pondered laying his companion out cold, before he showed any more indiscretion; but the pig miner interrupted. "Now sirs, I 'ave it on good authorit'ee that Comrade Theo distinguished 'imself. Killed that traitor bastard 'Envit with his bare 'ands. He's a war hero is what he is."

Gwendolyn rounded on him. "No, I'M a war hero! Your friend Theo is a pain in my feathered ass!"

The miner waved him off and went back to counting his gold. Further down the tunnel, a shambling line of pale-faced workers were leaving the food hall and returning to the evening shift.

"Gone to Avarath, 'e has. Caw, I've heard some tales of that place. Y'know there's a Draken there who grows cunt plants." He made a shape with his trotters, as if to emphasize, "Actual cunt plants. Yeah, some kind of forestkin breed where the flower pod grabs onto yer di--"

"Thanks for your time, Comrade." Nassad said it with enough courtesy and enough menace to send the miner on his way.

"So what now?" Ironically, Gwendolyn opted to whisper now that they were alone. "They're a day ahead of us and have imperial wagons. How in twelve-sands do you propose we catch them?"


Dorgrad Chamber Eleven
"Two hundred and eleven comrade-workers, eight hundred and ninety seven instruments of the smithy, eight camelettes of unrefined ore, nine freight axles, fifty seven yards of rail track, sub-chambers Kargrad Four, Twelve and Eighty-Three, seven foremen, five Commissars, three ministers of the lower office, and a total production slump of forty persari. Have I missed anything, Madame Warden?"

The figures were barked, each consonant stressed and high-toned, like a creak of metal. Warden Bracht kept her step in time. "No, Governor."

"Precisely. And I was absent for one week. Soon I will be absent for two. We may therefore run the numbers. Four hundred and twenty-two comrade-workers, seventeen hundred and ninety four instruments of the smithy, sixteen camelettes of..." The Warden endured the onslaught of words and numbers. Interrupting would only condemn her. "...six ministers of the lower office, and a total production slump of eighty persari. In short, Madame Warden, I expect the utter crippling of my mine should I take one step onto the surface."

The Governor paused on the gantry and turned to regard the Ipari Warden. They were flanked by a hundred miners, all kneeling with their heads upon the ground. They had dropped as the lord of Dorgrad entered. They would not dare look up. Only Bracht returned his stare, squinting at the gleam. Some said Governor Orvak had been burned in the magma river as a child. Some said he wore the finest diamonds of the mines to show his greatness. Still others saw it as an act of rhetoric - a message that even diamonds were equal to metal in the Worker's Paradise. Bracht had only one belief: that while Ipari wore their masks for a reason, the Governor wore his for whimsy.

"Are my expectations reasonable, Madame Warden?" His voice did not let up - a nasal, churning grind of gears. "Will Dorgrad fall when I turn my back, and become a den for vermin?"

"The conspiracy was one of decades, Governor. Your own Commissariat was complicit." If she drew satisfaction from saying that, it was not apparent. "The High Inquisitor assures us the mines are liberated. Worker happiness has increased. We have ended the racial segregation, and recommissioned Chamber Twel--"

"Lut... Sar..." Orvak said the name as if he were announcing at a dinner party. "Inquisitor he may be. Dogradi he is not." Workers trembled either side of him, forgetting all he had said, ignoring all contradictions his power conveyed. In the Worker's Paradise this shrill-voiced king was at odds with every principle, and yet encompassed them. Both the provider and the foil of all they believed in.

He was a creature of doublethink. A well-dressed paradox.

"A sample of three hundred workers, Madame Warden - I have it in my possession. Worker opinion of the Ipari Guard is unacceptable. General Amalia - yeeeees. Lut Sar - yeeees!" He almost screamed the affirmation. "Comrade Theophrastus Maladas, hero of a rapidly-forgettable hour - yeeeeees! But you!" He leant forward, near touching his mask to the warden's. "What appeal you won with your rappelling counter-attack was hitherto destroyed by reports of flaying, dismembering and crucifixion enacted by your own peo--"

"It was your son."

The Governor halted mid-sentence, and one could hear a shudder pass through the bowels of every worker in that chamber. Orvak stared beyond the eye-holes of his diamond mask. "My...."

"Your bastard, Nils Maupin. He committed the atrocity. I detained him and he was granted pardon by the High Inquisitor."

The two leaders stood in silence, Governor Orvak clasping hands behind his back and rocking on his feet. He almost hummed, such was his buoyancy of thought. Bracht hoped that he was hurting. Why should this man have many children to neglect, while she had one to cry for?

He rolled his Rs like a rock drill. "Brrring me to him."

The descent to Chamber Thirteen was swift - a rapping march of Commissar and Ipari boots. Full twenty men made gauntlet for the Governor and like dominoes the workers toppled in their presence. Those too old to kneel pressed faces to the rock and hid their eyes from sight of him. And those too young to know better reached out to touch the diamond angel, only to be slapped aside by his cohort.

The Chamber had plunged to silence as word spread of his coming. Nils was found, in conversation with Foreman H'Kal, and the two of them turned as a ring of soldiers encircled them. In a dozen shadows the Nocturne Lord of Dorgrad approached.

"Maiming animals again, my dearest boy?"
 
A soft smile graced Amalia's lips as K'jol took her hand. This new found softer side to him was surprising, but refreshing. It was a relief to the General, and his pledge gave her a boost of confidence.

"I'll be sure not to let anyone know," she said gently. Matil tilted her head, eyes twinkling with amusement. "And I do like this side to you, if that's any consolation."

A faint white glimmer caught the General's attention. Amalia looked up and saw a twinkle, much like the stars above them, hover by Lut Sar before the light went out. She frowned deeply, suspicious, but she did not want to ruin this moment with K'jol, not when the draken had thought so little of her until now.

"I am... Nervous K'jol. It is one thing to fight alongside my comrades, and another to control warring citizens. What if the people don't like their new General?"
 
Rakar laid on his sled, staring up at the sky above. It had been a long time since last he took the time to gaze at the night sky. Coros did the same, sitting next to Rakar's head. It was a beautiful moment, so unlike everything else in life. The soft sound of the sand as they slid along, and the peaceful sky above. It was a little piece of heaven in this desert of hell.

After some time, his attention was broken after noticing Amalia maneuvering her mount and sled towards K'Jol. His first instinct was to move along with her, but decided against it. He may not like K'Jol much at the moment, but Rakar at least trusted him enough to guard the General if needed.

His gaze caught sight of Arania, and again his mind drifted to the short conversation he had with her the night before. Something about her caught his curiosity. Of all the people traveling with them since Avarath, she was perhaps the one he knew the least about. On top of that, she was one of very few Nocturnes he had personally known who he did not dislike. He pondered for a short while, then got up and grabbed hold the reins on his mount pulling his sled, and maneuvered himself back, alongside her. Once there, both Rakar and Coros looked to her. They weren't sure if she was sleeping, so Coros spoke softly, trying to speak at a volume she would only notice if she was awake.

"Hello again Arania. Forgive me, but I was wondering. What will you do once the rebellion in Avarath is handled? Assuming we are able to end it victoriously, of course."
 
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K'Jol let a sigh escape his lips before stroking U'Sil with a single finger. He looked up to the stars for a moment, pondering what reassuring words to tell her. His eyes widened once again before he looked back to her, a sly smirk on his face. The famed warrior pressed his knuckles together, popping them before giving his own words of wisdom.

"Well to be blunt with you your image is probably faltering right now. Sure there was a lot of excitement for a healer becoming a General and you did get a lot of gifts and such but that time is now over. As you can see from your experience in Dorgrad being a soldier of Kaustir is no joke. As soon as we get into Avarath I can guarantee you that the common folk will flock to you for your guidance and you must be like a statue with your orders. Do not act like you were at the beginning of this journey - indecisive, nervous, and non-knowledgeable. Act how any other Kaustiri warrior would. You do not have to necessarily be narcissistic as I was.... or am? Whatever it is you do make sure you do it firmly. Cursing like a mad man also helps."

The famed warrior then examined her for a moment before shaking his head.

"I know this is a weird question since you seem to favor a sword but... how does wielding a spear or smaller version of my halberd sound?"

 
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