“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view.”

- Harper Lee

(Tino Maldavi POV)

It's hot!

SO HOT!

What I wouldn't give right now for the shade of my home trees. The light and refreshing wind that gently caresses their branches. Or even just the small morning dew that graces their leaves in the morning of spring.

Now, I know for sure : Elves were NOT made for living in the desert.

I am walking in the scorching sands, next to the convoy that is taking me to the town of Delta. I managed to get a reduced price on my fare by taking on the role of an escort. Something my diminishing finances are grateful for. But I am starting to heavily regret my decision, as it involves marching on foot next to the lumbering beasts carrying our supplies and more… "fortunate" travelers.

I shoot up a glance towards the strange palanquins resting on the back of the furry six-legged mammals and their occupants. They are casually chatting while admiring the scenery in the confines of the protective shadows of the transport.

I decide to focus my attention back towards where I am going, else risking being consumed by jealousy.

I let my mind wander as I put one feet in front of the other mechanically, hoping the night and the restoring sleep it promises come quickly. The monotony of the recurring dunes and the bludgeoning heat make my thoughts quickly drift toward my short but shocking stay in Takar, which led to my current predicament.

The one thing I had not expected when I arrived to the border town was the number of guards watching people coming in and out of the gates. They were on high alert. Everyone going in or out of the city had to pass a rigorous examination before being let through. The street themselves were regularly patrolled by fully armed soldiers detachments. I had found the cause of this increase in security pretty quickly.

The Clockwork had been here. And it had left a trail of bodies in its wake. If the rumors and gossip were true, it had a fight about a week ago inside the city. With the Human Church, no less. A lot of people had apparently been woken up during that fateful night by the battle's noises, and observed secretly with rapt attention through their various blinds and windows.

The first thing I had done once I had secured a place to sleep in was to contact my hierarchy with the Messaging Orb I had been provided. While the device is not exceedingly rare in itself, it is still pricey, and mostly used by military units. As such, it had been hidden from the alerted authorities. A quick description of the situation to my superiors, as well as a detailed report of the journey so far, had been well received. The communication officer I talked to thanked me, as he is under a lot of pressure from the political spheres back home to provide updates on my progress. Not that I was surprised by that: it is not every day that someone is sent after a Champion, and by the Empress Herself no less. I had been re-contacted a bit later that day with the orders to continue my mission, despite my voiced doubts about its apparent hostility, if the events that unfolded in this city were of any indication.

At least its objectives were now clear: it was seeking safety out of human-controlled lands, and into the desert. A smart move. I had booked a trip the same day for Delta, which was the next logical step in my journey, if I wanted to have any hopes of tracking it through the vast expanses of burning sand. I just hope it stays near established settlements.

My reminiscences are broken up when I start noticing agitation coursing through the various escorts of our convoy. The main guide starts gesticulating, alarmed, and pointing fingers to our right. I cannot understand his nomadic lingo, but I recognize the face of someone scared for his life.

I turn my eyes in the direction he is pointing at, as I take out my bow and ready an arrow on the string. And that is when I see it.

A pile of sand is moving towards us. A distinct deformation that could only be caused by a burrowed beast moving right underneath. A sizeable one too, given the amount of sand being displaced.

I gulp audibly as I see it starting to accelerate towards us.

"Prepare yourselves! Drilko attack! Don't let it get under you!"

The shout of the commander has its effect, as the different guards start putting their weapons at the ready, and interpose themselves between the convoy and the still unseen aggressor. I take a few steps back and join the other ranged attackers that positioned themselves at the back line, behind the lancers. I feel my military training taking over my mindset, as I steel myself for whatever is coming our way and start tracking the moving shape of sand with the tip of my arrow.

It is almost upon us now.

Just as it is about to collide with the first line of defense, the moving mound of sand disappears, and a low rumbling starts being felt.

"Split!"

Just as the commander shouts the order, the front line separates and starts running left and right, leaving a hole in the middle of our formation. I was about to question the reason for such a tactic when the rumbling stops, and everybody freezes, including me. I have heard this silence before. The heavy, awkward silence, that grabs you at the deepest parts of your guts. The one that drapes an area in an eerie atmosphere of calm for a few fleeting moments, before it devolves into chaos.

And devolving into chaos it did.

An eruption of sand suddenly appears right where the guards once stood, accompanied by a loud hissing noise.

Before I can even understand what is happening, a quick and sudden movement emerges from the sand cloud, revealing the beast. A large legless reptile, that, in a quick swoop, catches an unprepared soldier by one of his legs, before throwing it in the air with a quick jerk of its head. The soldier starts screaming as he flies, before falling back into the open mouth of the monster that has positioned itself just under him.

An audible swallowing sound puts a dreadful end to the screaming.

"Surround it! Don't let it attack! Be mindful of its head! Archers, aim for the eyes!"

As if the sudden end of their companion didn't just happen, everyone starts moving with a resolute step, encircling the lumbering beast in seconds. I start showering the reptile's head with arrows, along with the few other bow-wielding escorts.

The lancers poking it from all side divert its attention, and our unending shower of arrows puts it on the defensive. A loud hiss of pain rewards our efforts as one of my projectiles lodges itself in its right eye. I smile inwardly: if there is one thing we elves pride ourselves about, it's our uncanny accuracy with bows.

"Watch the tail! Watch the tail!"

Before any of us can react, the snake sweeps its scaly tail through the soldiers just in front of me, batting them away. His head turns toward me. I realize with dread that I don't have any more protection from the beast. I throw my bow away and unsheathe my sword as quick as I can. I don't really know what good it will do me against the now enraged monster, but it will surely be more useful than my bow in close combat.

I feel a chill as the beast looks at me with its remaining silted eye. At this moment, there is no doubt in my mind that it knows I was the one that inflicted the painful wound. I brace myself as I see it recoiling a bit, preparing to strike. I throw myself on the left with all my strength when I see the muscle contractions rippling across its scales. Because I jumped on the side of its wounded eye, it misses me, even if barely. I have only my honed reflexes to thank for my survival as I feel the brush of displaced air behind me, a testament to the unbelievable speed of the beast, and the near miss that just happened.

I roll in the sand and get up on my feet as fast as possible, ready for another assault. The beast has recoiled back to its original position, still fixated on me.

The others use that distraction to assault the beast again. The lancers finally manage to pierce through the armored scales. A loud hiss of pain is accompanied by large puncturing wounds, and red blood spurting out of them. The sand around us drinks it greedily, dying its natural orange and brown with a muddy crimson tint.

Seeing it distracted again by the other guards, and fueled by my success, I decide to take the opportunity and start running towards it.

Once close enough, I jump on its body, and start moving towards its head. Sensing my invasion, the beast turns its attention toward me again. I ignore the deadly stare it shots me, concentrating on my footing. It has started to move less, wounded and tired, and I can see in its rage fueled stare that it knows its end is coming.

In a last bout of desperation, it throws its head at me, mouth wide open, hoping to swallow in one gulp the insolent being that dared think it could press its luck so much. I jump up with all my strength, and see the beast crash into itself just under me, as I land on its head. I don't wait for even a second and attack, plunging my sword as deep as I can in its last functioning eye.

The beast hisses loudly and jerks violently. I lose the grip on my sword and am suddenly thrown away by its death throes. For a moment, I am baffled in incomprehension, as I see the ground where the sky should be. Time seems to slow down to a crawl as the world spins around me and I sail through the air.

However, it resumes its normal course as I crash into the sand. I hear loud cracks as I roll and slide on the ground. After a few more meters, my body stops rag-dolling across the dunes.

Dazed, I try to stand up, without much success. And then the pain comes. In crashing waves against my psyche. It seems to originate from everywhere. I try to scream. The pain is so intense that the only thing that comes out of my mouth are strained and whimpering exhalations, each accompanied by spasms, and more pain.

In my pain-induced daze and with tear-filled eyes, I barely notice the figures coming, and standing over me. I feel hands grabbing me on my sides. But just as they lift me, another wave of agony courses through my body, protesting against the rough handling. Before I can suffer much more, I pass out, embracing the sweet release and numbing of unconsciousness.

(Prince POV)

I stir the gruel and the dubious pieces of meat floating in it absentmindedly. My gaze is lost in the campfire, only source of light and heat in the cold and dark night that surrounds the encampment.

Mechanically, I bring the wooden spoon to my mouth, wincing as I swallow the bland mixture. Even after feeding on this kind of nourishment for almost three weeks, I still haven't gotten used to it. But my guess that if the only thing you had ever known in your whole life was the luxurious life in the Palace, with its cooks at your every whim, you would have trouble ingurgitating what passes for a meal here.

Military training does not a good cook make.

I detach my eyes from the dancing flames as I look around, trying to distract myself from the lingering taste that cling to my tongue. The Helm Guard soldiers are quietly moving around, rising up their tents, polishing their blades, feeding the horses, and themselves.

I quickly shoot an angry glare at my mount that I can see in the distance, his reins tied to a half-buried wood pike, along with the other horses. I can swear the damn animal hates me, and has made his personal goal to make the journey as uncomfortable as possible.

"Enjoying the meal?"

I jolt upright, surprised by Sir Devaillant, who has suddenly appeared right next to me. He sits himself right next to me. The knowing smile he gives me while pointing to the bowl tells me he is aware of my reluctance to eat.

I just shrug my shoulders, with a noncommittal grunt. After a quick chuckle, he goes silent, just observing me from the side. I had heard a lot of things about Sir Devaillant in the Palace. All good things, that spoke of a dedicated, and fiercely loyal man. I also heard tales of his combat prowess, at the top of what humans can offer. My youthful admiration had led me to wish the life of a knight, unconcerned by the political matters, putting my blade to the service of the people.

However, rumors have a way of hiding the other side of the coin. Something I have had the chance to discover, with reality, and its disappointing truths. Far away from the tales of distressed damsels and evils being slayed, our escape has shown me a life of hardships that my sheltered existence was unaware even existed.

Hell, I had never slept in anything else but warm and silky sheets before. Now, I am all but too familiar with the hard and uneven ground and the tiny pebbles that have a habit of waking you in the middle of the night, digging painfully in your back, if you have the misfortune to ever roll on them in your sleep. Coupled with the cold nights and chilling winds of the Plains, and I haven't been able to get one good night of sleep since our "escape" from the capital.

Sir Devaillant has refused to tell me more about what happened that night. And for the life of me, I cannot guess who would attempt to assassinate royalty. Who would even have the resources and backing? As the successor to the throne, I have been taught politics, but the mind games and intrigues of the court have never been my forte, seemingly a garbled mess of people vying for influence and power. I sigh heavily as these thoughts cross my mind. Next to me, Sir Devaillant moves and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Come on: It is not good to sulk. Let's take your mind off it. Follow me."

I shot him an accusatory glare, but do not answer. I really shouldn't, but I am not in a good mood.

I put down my unfinished bowl of food, happy inside to leave the disgusting mixture behind for whatever Sir Devaillant has planned for me. He actually doesn't go too far from the campfire, and lower himself while he searches through a bag of supplies.

"Catch!"

He suddenly turns around a throws something my way. I react just in time and grab what turn out to be a wooden sword. Before I even know, Sir Devaillant is rushing towards me with an identical tool.

I muster every ounce of strength in my body and manage to deflect the overhang slash he has coming my way. He steps back as soon as the swords make contact.

"Good reflexes. But bad posture."

He initiates an attack again, targeting my left side with a thrust this time. I barely have time to move my blade before the crash of wood against wood reverberates up my arm with a numbing sensation. I am the one to step back this time.

"What the hell! What are you doing?"

Sir Devaillant looks at me in the eyes with a very serious expression. I am shocked by his sudden change in demeanor. He isn't even wearing his armor, yet I can still feel the aura of a warrior at the ready coming off him. Not a knight. A warrior. I can feel a cold sweat starting to form.

"It has been close to two weeks since we left the Palace in the dead of night. During that time, I have seen you slowly degenerate into this husk of self-pity and misery." His tone is harsh and leaves no room for answers. "Like it or not, I have been tasked with protecting you, Your Highness. It is my Duty. As it is the one of every man and woman present here."

I swallow, finding my mouth dry suddenly, as I register the stares of the soldiers around the camp. They stopped what they were doing and are now watching the exchange with rapt attention. Sir Devaillant attacks again. Just like the last time, I barely have time to protect myself from the blow before being pushed back.

"Your grip is weak! Never let go of you weapon!"

As if to demonstrate what he just said, a flurry of unrelenting assaults start showering me. After the second strike, I have completely lost my balance and his wooden sword hits me square in the chest. I let go of my weapon, taken by the impact.

The shock throws me rolling to the ground, wheezing for air, with both hands clutched to my chest in an attempt to stave off the pain. After a few painful coughs, my breathing returns to normal and my body allows me to breathe again. The radiating pain lessens, allowing me to get my bearings back. I push myself off the dirt, and get back in a sitting position.

Sir Devaillant is still in front of me, his stern mask not leaving his face. While I was disoriented, he had picked up my dropped sword and is now holding it, handle towards me.

I grab the handle and yank it out of his grasp in an angry gesture. How dare He! I shoot up to my feet and try to attack him right away, as a revenge for the humiliation.

"Good! Show me some spirit!"

He deflects the strike easily. I press on, hoping to get a hit in. I might as well have been hitting a wall: each time I strike, his sword is there to meet mine. I can now see a mocking smile starting to appear on his lips. I increase my efforts, enraged by the affront.

It doesn't change much, and before I know what has happened, he counters my next strike and in a blurry movement, disarms me. The tip of his sword is now on my throat. I freeze when I cross eyes with him, seeing the cold reprimanding gaze he has.

"Anger is a good tool. It gives you energy, allows you to push your limits. But it makes you narrow minded, predictable. Never give into it fully, or that will be your last day on this earth."

He removes his sword from my throat, and gestures towards my wooden sword, laying a few meters away.

"Pick it up. We are not done. Far from it."

I throw my arms up in the air.

"Why does it matters?! It's not like it is going to make a difference whether I have a sword or not."

He nods.

"Right. Hand to hand is important too."

I look at him in incomprehension. What did he just say? I barely have time to register his next move as he drops his sword on the ground, and rushes me. I try to step back and counter his approaching fist. But he avoids my hastily risen arm and grabs my collar. The world spins around as I feel my legs being swept up from under me. A second later, I am back in the dirt. I try to wrestle out of his grip, but in vain. Sir Devaillant is above me, with my arm in a deadlock and a knee pressing on my back.

I stop struggling, realizing the pointlessness of it all. Swallowing my anger and pride, I ask in a defeated tone.

"Is there a point to all of this?"

I can feel him let go of my arm and moving away from me. I rise up slowly, massaging my sore shoulder. Far from his previously scary demeanor, Sir Devaillant is now looking at me with a softened expression.

"Yes. Now that we are far enough away from whoever is aiming for you, we can relax a bit. It gives us time. And I plan to use that opportunity to its fullest. I don't know who is the charlatan that masqueraded as your training instructor but this," He makes a encompassing gesture towards me. "will not do. From now on, each moment we have available will be spent training."

He chuckles.

"And if you still decide to continue sulk and wallow after that, at least you will be a sulking boy that can defend himself."

He pick up his sword, and points towards mine.

"Now… Let's continue."

I look around, trying to see if I could garner support from the surrounding soldiers. To my disappointment, most of them are either nodding or smiling, shaking their heads knowingly as if they had already seen what had happened before, and had become all but too familiar with it.

Dejected, I pick up the wooden sword and turn to face Sir Devaillant.

"We'll start with the basics. Goddess knows you'll need it."

As I take the basic stance he shows me, I give myself a new objective: one day, I'll make him eat dirt like he made me. And on that day, he will regret ever having decided to train me.