Five horsemen guided their lean steeds over the scrub desert and bantered among themselves. The sun hung overhead like a massive lantern and the heat blasted down on the desert floor so that even the horses, with their heat toughened hooves, had to keep moving over the hot dirt.
“By the Sands of Time I hate these daytime patrols,” said the tallest of the warriors who wore a curved sword at his side and a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head.
“Why do we have to do it?” said the rider to his left who wore similar headgear and rode a well-muscled gray steed with steamy sweat evident on its flank. “Who did you anger in the tribal council, Sufeka?”
“I called the chieftain a son of a camel herder,” said the first man with a laugh as he mopped the sweat off his brow with a cloth already soaked so through that it was difficult to tell whether it helped or hurt the situation.
“The punishment for that is far worse than a noon patrol,” said the second man with a laugh. “But you’ve always had the balls of a stallion, Sufeka.”
The leader of the patrol nodded his head and turned his horse deeper towards a series of small hills to their right.
“Why are we out this far anyway?” said a third member of the group of riders.
“Those foul Blackriders are on the move of late,” said the leader and spat into the dirt and sand mixture. “Their darkling king hopes to unite the nomads into a single force. We of the Farrider clan are the natural leaders of the nomads, not those degenerate half-breeds.”
“The chieftain thinks they plan some sort of daylight raid? Their darkling king is only capable of moonlight attacks,” said the second nomad with a great guffaw. “As long as he cannot bear the light of Ras then we have nothing to fear from the Black Horsemen.”
“Let them bring the full force of their might against the Farriders. Our people have always defeated the Blackriders and we always shall. We control the biggest territory and we always shall. I welcome the chance to kill them,” he said this last as he pulled out his curved sword with a swift motion and leaned forward in the saddle. “Death to the Black Horsemen, death to Ming, death to the darklings!” he shouted and brandished his sword which reflected the blinding sunlight far onto the horizon. The others watched him with smiles on their faces as they entered the low hilly region and were taken by surprise by the weak voice that came from almost at their feet. It said something in a foreign language that none of the riders understood but that startled them none-the-less.
The leader’s horse reared high, but he pulled the reins so that it wheeled to face the voice which came from a low cave in the hillside. He shouted towards the sound, “Who dares invade the territories of the Farriders!”
Brogus stared up at the shadowy figure, silhouetted by the sun, blinked his eyes lazily, and reached forward with a hand, “We are travelers, lost, without water. Can you help us?”
Sufeka laughed, “Invaders from the northern realm,” he shouted to his companions although he did not understand the words of the dwarf. “Let us help them die quickly rather than of thirst.” He made a little motion with his hand which prompted the four other horsemen to pull out their weapons, dismount, and take up position around the little cave entrance.
Brogus pulled out his little hand axe and straightened to his full height, still far shorter than the rangy nomads. His face was badly sunburned and his lips were peeled into little flayed and scabby strands, “Do your worst then.”
The nomads looked at the sunburnt dwarf and smiled as they closed in, “The sun is intense in the desert,” said one of them, “you need to cover yourself properly. Have you not visited our lands before?”
“Die,” came the girlish voice of Milli followed directly by a dagger that plunged into the eye of the second nomad who collapsed to the ground in a silent heap.
The four remaining warriors darted forward at Brogus but the dwarf whipped his tall, steel shield in front of him and deflected two strikes as he backed into the little hidden cavern. The nomads followed into the darkness which left them blind for the moment, and Dol took this opportunity to come at them with the Hammer of Fire. One of the warriors raised his light wooden shield as he sensed the motion but the heavy steel head smashed through it as though it weren’t there at all and pulverized two ribs, pushing one of them into the nomad’s lung. The three remaining warriors spun towards Dol and lunged at the shape; Dol deflected one sword tip but the other got through the defenses only to be turned aside by his heavy dwarf-made chain shirt.
Brogus used the moment to neatly cleave the head off one of the remaining warriors and the leader, almost blind in the cave, called out, “Retreat, back to the horses,” and dashed backwards out of the cave. His surviving companion tried to follow but Milli darted out, dashed under his feet, and his heel hit her side as he backed away and sent him tumbling. She spun around and neatly slid her dagger through his ribs and into his heart. He died without making a further sound.
Dol walked carefully to the edge of the cave, gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light, and then emerged in time to see Sufeka, the last of the warriors, mounting his horse and wheeling it to charge. “Death to invaders, for the Farrider clan, for the nomads, death!” and then he charged at Dol his horse almost leaping forward to close the gap between them instantly. His scimitar came down in a slashing blow but Dol ducked underneath it and brought the hammer through in a rising strike against the horse’s stomach as it rushed past.
Sufeka wheeled the beast but it screamed and spun against his movement which sent him spinning out of the saddle and onto the ground where his head hit the hardpan with a stunning crack.
By the time the nomad regained his equilibrium, Dol stood over him with the hammer poised in both hands ready to deliver a killing blow. “Take us to the Black Rider.”
The nomad glared up from the sand and spat out a wad of blood, “I do not understand your foul northern tongue, but I assume you want me to do something for you in order to ensure that I survive.”
Dol stared at him in total incomprehension and his eyes burned with fire. Suddenly he raised his hammer to bring it down on the head of the sneering nomad and only the intervention of Brogus, who grabbed Dol by the arm to stop the blow, prevented the attack.
“Dol,” said Milli. “What are you doing?”
“He cannot help us,” said Dol. “Why not get rid of him before he brings down more of his kind upon us?”
“Dol,” repeated Milli. “We are not the sort to murder in cold blood. Besides, if we can communicate with him perhaps he can tell us where we are.”
“In the meantime,” said Petra emerging from the back of the cave where she remained hidden during the fight, “We now have five horses and an excellent supply of water.”
“Do you know how to ride a horse like that?” said Brogus eyeing the muscled chargers that eyed them from nearby. He took a step towards one of the beasts but it reared and lashed out with a hoof. “They don’t look friendly.”
Sufeka laughed at the attempt to approach one of the horses. “You’ll never ride the horse of a Farrider, invader,” he said. “We train them too well.”
“I think he doesn’t like our chances of taming the steeds,” said Milli with a glance at the nomad on the ground. “If we can’t catch them then we can’t unload their supplies.”
Petra produced something from inside one of her pockets and began to hum a little tune as she quietly approached the horses while looking in the opposite direction.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” started Brogus as he reached out towards Petra.
Just a moment later the old woman was at the lead horse, cooing gently, and whispering soft words in its ear as she fed it something from the palm of her hand.
“Witch woman!” shouted Sufeka from the ground and started to rise but Dol merely turned the hammer in his direction and pointed it at him.
“This might work out,” said Milli as she cautiously approached the mammoth horse and held out her hand.
“How are you so good with animals?” asked Brogus, now wearing one of the floppy hats the nomads sported a few moments before. “Here, I got their hats. We should all put them on. I don’t know why we didn’t even bother to ask where we were headed.”
Milli looked down at the ground as she stroked the shoulder of the big horse, “That was my fault. If Petra hadn’t brought water and food we’d have died of thirst days ago. As it is we wouldn’t have made it more than another day or two and we had no idea what direction to head.”
“We still don’t know where to go,” said Brogus and looked at the man on the ground. A moment later all four of the companions wore one of the floppy hats as they stared at the prisoner.
“We can follow their tracks,” said Petra looking at the hoof prints in the ground. This scrub is good for that as long as there isn’t a storm.”
“I wouldn’t mind some rain,” said Milli, her face red and her skin parched and dry. “Even if it did wipe out the tracks.”
“We can’t wait too long,” said Dol, the fire in his eyes gone as suddenly as it came, and they were now returned to their normal, brown color. “When this patrol goes missing they’ll send out reinforcements. On horses like these it won’t take them long to find us.”
“Wait,” said Petra who pulled something out of the saddlebag of the leader’s horse. “It’s a map. I don’t understand the writing but there are symbols.”
“Let me look at that,” said Brogus coming over and taking the parchment from the hand of the woman. “We dwarves know a thing or two about map-making.”
The nomad on the ground watched them closely and thought about dashing for one of the other horses, but the tall dwarf with the short hair kept him under strong surveillance. He felt burning shame at the defeat at the hands of the barbarians, although he could see that the hammer was of great power. He could yet redeem himself by taking it back to his people.
“See this symbol here,” said Petra, as she, Milli, and Brogus huddled over the map and took sips of water from the large skin containers they looted from the great horse. “It’s the same as on the horses and their equipment. I think we’re right at the border of this other tribe. This other symbol looks like a black horse and I’d take that as a good sign we’re on the right track.”
“You could be right,” said Milli and turned her attention back to the man on the ground. “I just wish we could ask him a few questions. And, if we do find this Black Rider, how will we communicate with him?”
“He looks the hard sort,” said Brogus with a glance back at their prisoner. “I’m not sure he’d talk unless we put the tongs to him.”
“Brogus!” said Milli.
“What?” said Brogus. “He’s not going to volunteer the information, and besides, he can’t speak our language anyway.”
“Still, torture?”
“It’s just an idea,” said Brogus with a shrug of his shoulders and another sip from the water skin. “If Petra is right about this map then we can head… well… what direction is what?”
“They say you can tell by watching the sun,” said Milli pointing up.
Petra looked at the trio and shook her head, “Have any of you three ever been outside for more than a few days of your life?”
“I’ve been on trading caravans for weeks,” said Brogus. “But I didn’t pay too much attention to the sun. It’s awful bright.”
Milli shook her head, “I was outside as a little girl, but I don’t remember it.”
Dol simply shook his head.
“We’ve been out in this desert for almost three days and you haven’t tracked the sun once?” asked Petra with a shake of her head. “I doubt you even noticed the constellations are completely different.”
“What’s a constellation?” asked Brogus with a look of incomprehension on his face.
Petra looked at Milli with raised eyebrows but the Halfling girl’s face bore a puzzled expression as well. “The stars? Up there?” Milli said pointing up to the bright sky.
Brogus looked up and into the sun and then down the ground and began to blink rapidly, “Owww.”
“Don’t stare at it, you idiot. That’s the sun.” said Petra with a little snort of air. “I’m talking about at night. The little pinpoints of light. The stars. You’ve heard of them, right?”
“Ohhh,” said Brogus. “Yeah, those. Never gave them much thought. Are they different here than back home?”
“You really didn’t notice?”
Milli looked back and forth between Dol and Brogus and finally shook her head, “Do they change often?”
Petra just smiled. “It doesn’t matter. It means we’re a long way from where we were before. I pay attention to those sorts of things. Now, if this little compass at the top of the map means what I think it does, then we need to head in the direction of the setting sun to get to this other area. If this symbol means anything at all it means the territories of the Black Horsemen. Even if we get there alive I don’t know how we are going to talk to them. I know a bit of the trader tongue but I doubt that extends this far south.”
“We are in the south,” said Brogus as he took another glance up at the sky. “I never thought it could get this hot. Did it take us half a year to travel through the portal? It seemed like it happened right away but it was winter in Das’von.”
Everyone looked to Petra.
She shrugged, “I’m not sure about things like that. Maybe the seasons are different in the south. Maybe this is winter and it gets even hotter.”
“No!” said Milli and touched her sunburned skin gingerly. “It can’t get hotter than this. It’s always pretty much the same in Craggen Steep.”
“Unless you do deep mining,” said Brogus. “It’s sweaty down there all the time. Hundreds of miners working next to each other, hour after hour. I’ve seen apprentices keel over dead, I have.”
“Lovely thought,” said Milli with a tight little smile towards Brogus. “Be dear and try to say something to take my mind off the heat.”
“What do we do with him?” said Dol with a nod of his head to the prisoner.
“He’ll catch one of the horses and ride back to his friends as soon as we leave,” said Milli and put her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. “But, we are not going to just kill him in cold blood.”
“What then?” asked Brogus tilting his head to the side and looking at Milli.
“I might be able to cook something up that will knock him out for a bit,” said Petra. “The plants here are different than back home but I recognize some things and I’ve got some herbs I brought with me.”
“That’s the plan then,” said Milli with a nod of a her head and a firm smile. “We knock him out and then head towards the… what did you say about the sun?”
“Towards the setting sun,” replied Petra. “In a few hours it’ll start going down and we can just follow it to the horizon. I’m not sure what the measurement means in actual distance but it can’t be much different than we use back home. One tick mark means a thousand or so steps.”
“Maybe one tick mark means a thousand miles,” said Brogus.
“Maybe,” said Petra, “but I doubt it. People think the same way no matter what. You’ll find different people everywhere but they’re all the same in many ways. The way they think, the way the act, the way they can be tricked from their coin. You’d be surprised how much people are the same everywhere.”
“Wait,” said Brogus. “It is a few hours until the sun goes down. In Das’von the day was much shorter than that and the nights longer. The days are longer here. It must be summer.”
“That’s true,” said Milli with a bright smile. “So it can’t get hotter!”
“I’m going to brew something up in the cave,” said Petra. “Make sure he doesn’t get away.”
The morning sun filtered through the clouds four days later as they stared across the bleak landscape of never changing prickly scrub plants and dirty brown sand and dirt.
“Sun’s coming up,” said Brogus. “We should find another cave in the next couple of hours before it gets too hot. His skin was still red and burned but with the desert clothes and good water supply looted from the nomads he looked healthier than four days before and spoke with a stronger voice.
Petra went over to the one horse they managed to tame and petted it across its neck, “We’ve still got enough water for a few days but we might want to head towards one of these green splotches on the map. I’d guess that means water and we’ll need to get the horse more than we’ve been giving it or it will die. I don’t want to wait until we’re out of water again. It was pure luck those nomads came across our hiding spot or we’d be dead now.”
“What if we run into more of those nomads?” asked Milli looking in first in one direction and then in the other. “I think we should just keep heading to the place on the map that shows the black horse picture. That’s who we are here to find. If we find them then they’ll have water.”
“We’re here to kill Gazadum,” said Dol in a quiet voice as his hand went to the hammer at his side. He found himself touching it more frequently these days and luxuriating in the heat it emanated.
“Yes, Dol,” said Milli with a roll of her eyes at his now familiar refrain. “But we have to get out of this desert first and we don’t even know how far away the five volcanoes are from here.”
“South,” said Dol with a shrug. “We need to head south.”
“Further south?” said Brogus moping his brow. “How is that possible? It can’t get any hotter.”
“How do you know it’s south?” said Milli with a sideways glance at Dol through her yellow eyes. She fiddled with draw strings on the floppy hat that she wore.
“I know,” said Dol, his hand lingering on the handle of the hammer long enough that the heat started to permeate through his arm.
“That’s not an answer,” said Milli, “but I know you well enough to understand that’s all I’ll get.” She looked down at his hand which held the hammer and then turned her gaze to Petra. “How long can we make it with the water we have?”
“Another three days for us,” said the old witchy woman with a shrug of her shoulders as she continued to stroke the mane of the stallion. “I don’t know for the horse. If we give him our water that cuts into how much we have left.”
“Why not head for the water spots?” said Brogus and moped his brow yet again. “We have a better chance of finding people there anyway. Wouldn’t they gather near water?”
Milli looked at her friend and broke into a broad smile, “Actually, Brogus, you have a pretty good idea there. If we find water we’ll surely find these nomads. I’m still not sure how we’ll talk to them but at least it’s a start.”
“I had a good idea!” said Brogus as his smile threatened to leap completely off his face.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” said Milli but her smile widened as well.
“Too late,” said Petra with a shake of her head as a big grin appeared on her face as well.
“She’s right,” said Brogus and made a muscle with his right arm.
Milli rolled her eyes and shook her head, “Fine, fine. Let’s find a place to get out of the heat of the day. There are some low hills over that way,” she finished pointing towards a little rise in elevation to her right. “Is that in the right direction to the water?”
Petra pulled out the little map and nodded her head, “Generally, I think. It’s not easy to figure out exact directions like that. Those hills are opposite the sun this morning, so it’s as good a choice as any. I wish we could find one of the landmarks on this map because then we’ll know how far we’ve traveled.”
“You don’t even know where we were when we started,” said Brogus with a shake of his head. “I’m not much at map reading here in the open but underground I know my business. The mines of Craggen Steep go on for who knows how long all the way to the bottom of the mountain and beyond. You have to know where you start to be able to figure out where you are now.”
“Fine,” said Petra with a little downturn of her lips, “we need to find first one place on this map and then a second. Is that good enough?”
“Yep,” said Brogus as he continued to smile widely.
“And wipe that grin off your face,” said Petra. “If it wasn’t for me we never would have made it this far.”
Brogus continued to smile. An hour later, just as the sun began its long climb to the zenith of the sky, they found a small cave in the rocky hillside. They all went into together and set down their gear before Petra went out to gather some of the strange plants that grew in the region. They had learned, through trial and nausea, what plants were tasty and which were toxic.
“It must rain sometimes,” said Petra as she returned with an armload of the little green pads that grew on the plants all over the desert. “These plants can’t exist without water at all. I bet they have a big rainy season and then it’s stored up to survive the rest of the year. It probably happens in autumn and maybe again in spring. I bet it gets cold in winter. It gets cold enough at night and this is summer.” With this observation, to which no one replied, she busied herself with scraping off the needles while Dol and Brogus ignited a little fire with some of the scrub they harvested earlier.
“It does get pretty cool at night,” said Brogus stripping off his heavy chain shirt and preparing some bedding for the long day. “I never would have thought it but it’s true.”
“Hey!” said Milli from the cave mouth. “I see some dust over there.”
Petra and Brogus immediately rushed to the entrance of the little cave while Dol stayed at the fire and gently twisted the hammer round and round. The three peered out over the seemingly endless desert while little Milli stood in front and pointed. Petra, the tallest of the trio stood behind her, and Brogus tried to wriggle his way past the tall woman. “Riders,” said the witch with in a low tone. “They’re coming from the direction of the black horse symbol.”
“Do you think we should say hello,” said Milli looking back over her right shoulder to the Petra. “I mean that is who we’re supposed to spy on.”
“We could ambush them like we did the first group,” suggested Brogus and looked back towards his weapon and armor on the floor of the stone cave. They lay neatly arranged so that he might grab and use them at a moment’s notice. He learned this particular habit a long time ago from his father and older brothers in the dwarf citadel. Even in the secure environment of Craggen Steep darkling forces attacked from the realm below on occasion and the mining operations were always at risk. The darklings were a cruel, torturous lot that captured dwarves for slave operations beneath the ground. Dwarves were strong miners and the darklings worked them to death building new tunnels for their endless warrens.
“We don’t want to kill them,” said Milli looking at the burly dwarf. “They might know the Black Horseman.”
“They might be violent, like the first group,” said Brogus and watched as Dol slipped back on his armor and fingered the hammer at his side. “We don’t want to meet them out in the open with those horses. We wouldn’t stand a chance. We should lure them here to the cave like before.”
“They’ll not pass close enough,” said Petra judging their movement and direction with a practiced eye.
“If we flag them down then we lose the element of surprise,” said Brogus with a look back towards his axe again.
“If we don’t then we’re back to wandering in the desert running out of food and water,” said Milli tapping her foot on the rocky ground.
“She,” said Brogus with a nod at Petra, “can find us plenty of food and the map shows where the water is.”
“So you propose to wander around in the desert for the rest of our lives,” said Milli with a shake of her head. “Think Brogus. We have to contact someone and those riders are the best option we have.”
“You’re smarter than me, Milli,” said Brogus with a frown. “If you think that’s what we should do, then let’s do it.”
“Dol?” said Milli with a look back to the dwarf who, by now, stood fully armored and ready for battle.
He shrugged, “Either way. I have my mission.”
Milli turned away with a snort. “He’s going to be no help at all unless we get in a fight. I say we wave to the riders. Petra?”
The witch woman gauged the distance of the riders to their location, put her hand to her chin, and eventually nodded her head, “I think you’re right Milli. The other choice is to wander endlessly and if we’re in another tribe’s territory this map is probably not all that useful.”
“Go ahead, Brogus,” said Milli and turned to face the dwarf warrior.
“Should I put on my gear first?” he asked with another longing look back to the cave.
“It’ll take them some time to get here,” said Milli looking back and forth to the riders and Brogus. “Wave them down and then gear up.”
Brogus moved passed Milli to the front of the little cave and began to wave his arms up and down although for some time it proved impossible to tell if the riders noted or not. After a bit of this, Milli gave him a long white cloak, another item stolen from the first band of nomads, to wave. It was surprisingly lightweight for its strength and she was eager to know the secrets to its weave.
“My arms are tired,” said Brogus after long minutes of waving.
“They see us,” said Petra. Despite her age, her eyes were as sharp as a young girl’s and well experienced at judging distances and objects. “They’ve broken into two groups. One continues in the same direction and the second heads towards us.”
“That’s it then,” said Brogus and stopped waving his arms and rushed back into the cave to put on his armor and grab his weapon. “Dol, are you ready?”
Dol nodded his head and smiled as he felt the heat of the hammer handle spread through his hands.
Petra watched as the little clouds of dust coalesced into shapes, then to a group of riders, and finally into individual horsemen. Their gear appeared similar to the first group although this band had a short banner that snapped in the stiff breeze brought on by the speed of their horses. The dust obscured her vision but an occasional glimpse convinced the witchy woman that it depicted a black horse on a sandy background. In the end she badly misjudged the tremendous speed of the horses by their apparently slow approach because before she fully realized it they were suddenly close by and the pounding sound of their hoof beats sounded like thunder.
All of the horses suddenly pulled up twenty yards short of the little cave although neither Petra nor Milli saw anyone give any sort of signal to indicate a halt. One horse, a spirited animal, gray in color with black eyes, broke off from the group and headed towards them. It was guided by a rider cloaked in the lightweight, yet sturdy material they now wore themselves. A thin piece of cloth, apparently the same material, covered his nose, mouth, and chin, although his piercing blue eye were easily apparent as he looked them over. He said something in a strange language and Milli held up her hand in what she hoped might appear a peaceful gesture.
The rider spoke again and his hand went to a curved blade at his side.
“We are strangers and do not speak your language,” said Milli, her high-pitched Halfling voice sounding clear and crisp in the hot desert air. “We come to see the Black Rider.”
The man looked down from atop his tremendous horse. The thing almost seemed to breathe fire to Milli and she could hardly give credence to the idea that this was a similar species to the mule she rode not so long ago. It was heavily muscled in the chest but lean in the flanks with long legs and a regal, aloof look in its eyes. The man aboard it said something in that strange language and then pulled off the cloth that covered his face.
He stared at the pretty Halfling girl for long seconds as neither of the two averted their gaze. Then he suddenly smiled with shining, white teeth and laughed. He leaned back on his mount and shouted something to one of the other riders who immediately dismounted and began to rummage under his cloak as he walked over.
The newcomer bobbed his head and similarly pulled the cloth from his face and also removed the wide brimmed hat from his head which proved to be bald as an egg. Milli noted he was rather short and a bit round around the middle although hardly fat. He said something to the girl and although his tone was pleasant she could still not understand him. Eventually he pulled a little silver amulet out from one of the many compartments apparently hidden in the cloak and slipped it over his head, “Can you understand me now?”
“Yes, yes I can!” said Milli with a bright smile and actually jumped up and down a few times. “Can you understand me?”
The nomad nodded his head, “Indeed I can, little girl. Is this your daughter?” he said with a look at Petra.
The old woman threw back her head and laughed aloud, “You’ve never seen a Halfling before?”
The chubby man jerked his head back and opened his eyes wide. Then he turned at looked at Milli more closely. “Why, I’m terribly sorry, young lady. We do not have many of your race here in the Sands but I know they live in Tanta by the Sea. Will you accept my apology?”
Milli folder her arms across her chest and frowned, “I suppose.”
“Please forgive my rudeness but we were quite surprised to see such as you here in the southern territory. I am Manetho, can I offer you and your friends sweets? Coffee or tea?” he said and looked back to the horsemen behind him. “These visitors are now guests of the Black Horsemen. Prepare for a midday supper.”
With these words the nomads immediately dismounted and began to unpack all manner of equipment from their steeds. From one little bag came long sticks, somehow collapsed upon one another that unfolded into supports for a heavy piece of material that was set as a barrier to keep the sand out. Within in a few more seconds they set up a little table with cushions and before Milli could even protest, Manetho took her by the arm and led her to the makeshift shelter. “You look touched by Ras,” he said and pointed to her sunburned skin. “We have a salve that will help with that although I do not carry a large quantity of it.”
“Wait a moment,” interrupted Milli and turned back to the cave. “There are two more of us in the cave. Warriors. We feared you might attack as did the others.”
“Farriders?” said Manetho with a little smile.
“I’m sorry?” said Milli shaking her head.
“Have you not heard of the Farrider nomads?” said Manetho. “You wear their cloaks and symbols. They are the sworn enemy of the Black Horsemen. We are to kill them on site. It is lucky we recognized that you were foreigners or we would have slain you.”
“The Farriders tried that,” said Milli. “But, I have your word that we are safe in your care? My companions will not want to exit the cave without such assurances.”
“You are not familiar with the ways of the nomads of the Sands then,” said Manetho. “I have declared you my guests and no harm will come to you if I can prevent it.”
Milli looked at the chubby man for a moment and saw his plain smile and heard the earnest tone in his voice, “I trust you, Manetho. I am Milli. This is Petra and Dol and Brogus wait in the cave. I will get them.”
“You have strange names, Milli,” he said rolling the word in his mouth but doing a good job of pronunciation. “Dol… Brogus. They do not roll easily from the tongue. Where are you from?”
Petra looked at the nomad for a moment, “I’m from the northern lands near Das’von. We met while traveling in the region and I think they are also from that area although I’m not completely certain.”
“I know of Das’von,” said Manetho in a suddenly quiet tone as the nomads around him also stopped their work and looked at the two. “There are rumors of that great city even here in the Sands. I have declared you guests but I must warn you that such an affiliation might be sorely looked upon by my brothers.”
“We are not representatives of Das’von,” said Petra although the sound of the city’s name again caused the nomads to glance at the duo and murmur amongst themselves. “We have come seeking a region of five volcanoes. We are on a quest.”
“Volcanoes?” said Manetho with a scratch of his chin. “There are no volcanoes in this area although the green lands south of here, Shandoria, are rife with them according to tradesmen. I do not know of an area with five but we can consult the traders and they might be able to help you find this place.”
At that moment Dol, Brogus, and Milli emerged from the cave. The two dwarves were still in full armor and carried their weapons at the ready while Milli smiled broadly and waved at Manetho, “They are a bit nervous. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”
“Warriors of the Temin,” said Manetho at the sight of the two dwarves.
Dol and Brogus looked at one another but said nothing.
“Are you not from the grand mountain Temin where your kind resides on our western border?” asked Manetho.
Dol shook his head and Brogus replied, “No, we are from the north.”
“Ahh,” said Manetho with a shake of his head. “The only dwarves around here are those of Temin, the Kingdom of the Mountain. Nevertheless, you are welcome in our camp. I am Manetho and we are your hosts. Milli here has told me you are on a quest for the volcanic lands to the south. We might be able to direct you there. And, we owe you a gratitude for slaying Farriders. It was your axe and hammer that achieved this I assume?”
“And my knife,” said Milli pulling out a little dagger and smiling.
“The women of your land fight as well?” said Manetho. “This is good. Our woman fight alongside the men and you will soon see that our little company has two of fair sex,” he indicated with a gesture towards the nomads who continued to set up the camp.
Milli looked closely and did see two smaller figures among them and the way they moved beneath the strange material did seem more feminine. “We slew four of the Farriders but allowed one to go free after we captured him. We were not well equipped to handle prisoners.”
“Alas,” said Manetho with a shake of his head and a little frown. “We sell prisoners to the Golden Worm for a high price.”
“The Golden Worm?” said Brogus, suddenly interrupting the conversation as he came over and hooked his axe to his belt.
“Come,” said the chubby nomad as he looked over to the now finished campsite. The screen blocked off the intensity of the noonday sun but allowed through ample light to see a flat table, resting on the ground and somehow pieced together like a puzzle, soft cushions for seats, a dozen little bowls filled with strange fruits and vegetables that Milli did not recognize, and even little glasses with a milky liquid inside. “Come, eat, drink. Then we will discuss other matters.”
Manetho introduced the four other nomads to the group, two men and two women, but Milli quickly lost track of their names and the fact that only the chubby wizard with his strange amulet understood them and only his words had any meaning to them, quickly forced him to become the center of the impromptu little feast. Milli found that she enjoyed much of the food, while Petra spent a great deal of time watching the cooking methods of the desert nomads and seemed to manage some level of communication as she learned.
The eating, drinking, and small talk went on at a leisurely pace and soon the high noon sun began to descend which brought out lengthening shadows but little in the way of relief from the heat. Manetho gave her a vial of strange smelling solution that she rubbed onto her sunburned face while Dol, Petra, and Brogus did the same. The little amount barely sufficed but Milli did feel an easing to the burning sensation, although, perhaps it was merely her imagination.
Eventually the nomads began to pack up the camp, leaving the screen and seating cushions for last and only then did Manetho broach the subject of the Black Rider and Das’von. “You are from Das’von,” he said to them although he looked carefully at Dol and Brogus as he used the name of the great city. His round face seemed suddenly sharper and his blue eyes narrowed.
“No,” said Brogus. “We are from a citadel not too far away from the city named Helmhigh.” This was the name the dwarf caravans always used when dealing with the other races to avoid the mention of their true home.
“And you are in the Sands to find five volcanoes?” asked Manetho.
“Yes,” said Dol suddenly perking up and paying attention. “Five volcanoes right next to one another along the sea.”
“I will take you back with us to our encampment,” said Manetho, “and our tradesmen might be able to help you locate this place. However, there are many rumors about Das’von here in the south and about a man named Corancil. Do you know anything about this?”
Dol nodded his head, as did Brogus, although Milli and Petra kept silent. The four nomads finished packing away the material of the camp and then simply lay down on the hard earth and seemed to nap.
“We do know a little,” finally ventured Milli with a small smile.
“You will tell me?” said Manetho and it seemed a question rather than a statement although the good humor of their recent dining experience seemed but a distant memory in the suddenly highly charged atmosphere.
“He is a powerful conqueror. We’ve been told he is assembling an army to invade the southern lands,” but that is really about all we know,” said Milli with a shrug of her shoulders. “We were only in Das’von for a little while.”
“And now you are in the Sands. I believe the distance between these two locations is beyond calculation. When were you in Das’von?”
The four looked at one another before Milli finally answered, “Five days ago.”
The nomad blinked slowly and said nothing for a long time.
“It was magic,” said Brogus.
“So I would imagine,” said Manetho.
“We used some portal thingy,” continued Brogus.
“You did this on your own?”
“No,” said Brogus. “A mage helped us. We promised to reward him once we completed our mission.”
Milli sat silently.
“I see,” said Manetho. “Well, it is much for me to think about. We are currently on patrol. The main encampment is too far for you to reach on foot. I will send a rider back for horses once the heat of the day passes us. We might have to wait several days. In the meantime you can regal me with stories of the northern realm and perhaps all you know of this Corancil and his armies.”
“We never met him,” said Brogus with a shrug although Milli remained silent. “Helmhigh keeps mostly to itself. We don’t know much about the rest of the world.”
Petra spoke next, “I probably know the most about Corancil but even that is not much. I’m a witch woman and I’ve traveled about the area more than a bit. Das’von is the oldest city in the northern realms and was ruled by a dwarf warlord since I was a little girl. Rumors started about three of four years ago about some armies from the middle-lands. There are supposedly some tall mountains and wide lakes in the middle of the northern states but I do not know if that is true. Corancil came from those with his armies. He conquered Das’von and Stav’rol in great battles. He supposedly has trading treatises with the cities on the eastern shore, especially Sea’cra. They are traders on the ocean, sea-going men.”
“We know these Sea’cra traders,” said Manetho. “Their vessels reach the City by the Sea, Tanta, and from there goods reach us nomads. They are weaklings in the city, living in their brick homes, away from the stars, the sun, the sand. These are things that make a man strong. If this Corancil thinks to invade the southlands then he must deal with the Black Horsemen, the strongest of the nomad tribes. He will not be able to defeat us. Have no fear. You are safe.”
“The armies of Corancil number in the tens of thousands,” said Milli with a gesture of spreading arms. “We stayed in a camp outside of Das’von.”
“These matters bear much thought,” said Manetho. “I am not the one who can make important decisions. Rest now, it is the peak of Ras, we will send the patrol on without us and wait. Then I will take you to the Black Horseman and he will decide what is to be done. Rest now.”