The first time Marek saw it, he thought it was a mirage. Like all deserts, it was desolate for hundreds of miles around until it wasn’t. It was usually quite sudden, and this time was no different. Marek raised a hand to block the beating rays of the sun as he squinted at the horizon. Thank the gods.

“Looks like we’re close,” Wyatt said beside him. Marek nodded and reached into one of his saddlebags and pulled out a spyglass. Unfurling it from its leather confines, he raised it and peered through it.

Not much could be seen, other than green foliage, which was rare enough in the Huzha that its appearance was a shock. After looking at shades of brown for so long, seeing green again made him nostalgic for the world outside of the Huzha. Soon.

“We’re close,” Marek said. He passed the spyglass over to Wyatt, who took it and looked through the device for a few moments before he handed it back.

“Appreciated,” Wyatt said as Marek put the spyglass away. “A few hours off, I think.”

“Around that,” Marek said. “You’re in command for the moment. I need to speak to Ako.”

Marek barely waited for Wyatt’s confirmation as he rode down the line of the caravan. As he rode, he noted the mood of the caravan was grim. Compared to the first day and even some of the second, there were no smiles, and any talking was to the point.

A lack of water can do that to any man, Marek thought. Can’t blame them.

It was the third day, and they needed to reach the Lake of Peace before nightfall. They had ridden hard, perhaps too hard, but water was extremely heavy. For a caravan of this size, over thirty people, including fifty mounts—twenty loaded full of herbs, spices, and other wares—their water had run out extremely quickly.

Marek found Ako near the back, talking to Talon. The man’s face was somehow redder compared to yesterday, but his temperament seemed much improved. They were speaking Kulok or some variant of it, but even as Marek moved closer, he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“Talon, Ako,” Marek said, cutting through their conversation. He frowned apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I must borrow Ako for a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Talon said, his voice neutral, almost carefully so. “I imagine it has something to do with how the Lake of Peace was just sighted?”

“You would be correct,” Marek said, inclining his head at Talon as Ako wordlessly moved her mount towards him. “Let’s go to the front,” Marek said, and the two rode to the front of the caravan.

Just before they arrived, Marek turned to Ako. “If you don’t mind me asking, what were you two talking about?”

“I do not mind,” Ako said demurely, her voice quiet like it always was. Marek nearly leaned forward to hear her better. “We were just talking about our tribes. His is relatively close to mine, close to Esai.”

“That’s… good?” Marek asked, hating how stupid he sounded. “I assume that’s good.”

Ako laughed. It was a tinkling thing that didn’t match the warrior that Marek knew. “It was nice to hear from someone close to home although, like me, he has not been home for many years,” she said, still smiling.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Marek replied, just as they made their way to the front of the line. Wyatt came up to them.

“Sorry to hear what?” Wyatt asked, rubbing his chin through his beard. “I didn’t catch all of that.”

“Oh, it’s nothing important,” Marek said, waving it off. “Look, the reason why I brought Ako up here is that she could be very helpful when gaining entrance into the Lake of Peace.”

To Marek’s surprise, it wasn’t Wyatt but Ako who shook her head. “I am sorry,” she said, looking genuinely regretful, “but I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“Why is that?” Wyatt asked. His eyes narrowed as he looked up and down the caravan. His head jerked in Talon’s general direction. “Did he—”

“No,” Ako said. She smiled again, which made Marek want to smile back despite himself. Ako had that effect on people, always cheering people up with her presence alone. Marek admired that about her. She had been through so much, and yet she never faltered when lesser men and women would have fallen long before. “There may be someone there that knows of me, and I would rather not jeopardize our mission.”

“Why would your presence jeopardize our mission?” Marek asked, exchanging a confused look with Wyatt. “Have you done anything that I should know of?”

“You both know why I’m here,” Ako said. “Why I originally decided to leave my tribe.”

“Yes,” Marek said, nodding. “You wanted to explore the world.”

“That is correct,” Ako said. Her eyes, which were a dark brown, gained a far-away look. “It’s been three years since I left home. I never thought I would be gone this long. I planned, and I still send letters and money back home, but it was never enough. A month ago, I received a letter from my father demanding my return, or else I would be exiled from the clan.”

Marek’s jaw dropped. “Are you certain?” he asked weakly. From what he had studied, being exiled from a clan was one of the worst things that could happen to a Kulok. It was essentially a death sentence for any who didn’t have the means to survive on their own. Cities or even towns in the desert were few and far between, and at any moment, you could be killed if your tribe or an allied tribe found you.

“Yes,” Ako said. Her voice now had a strained tinge to it, and she didn’t meet either Marek or Wyatt’s eyes. “I never responded, but my father is a man of his word, meaning that, outside of the main cities, I will not be welcome anywhere within the Huzha. I am now tribeless.”

“I assume that’s significant?” Wyatt asked, looking from Marek to Ako. “I never studied the Kulok like you did, Marek.”

“It is,” Marek managed. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Ako.”

“I made my choice three years ago when they decided power was more important than my own well-being,” Ako said with a grimace. “I just didn’t know it at the time. I’ve made my peace with it.”

You don’t look at peace, Marek wanted to say but resisted the urge to say the words. There were few things that weren’t spoken about in their group, but Ako’s past and Jakub was one of them. Anton had brought up Jakub once, curiously asking questions about the long-dead bard. Ako had immediately burst into tears and stopped talking to everyone for the next few days. The sullen and quiet Ako had been a marked difference from the positive and friendly Ako everyone had known up to that point. Thus no one had ever brought up her past again unless she did so.

“Will this be a problem even if you don’t meet with the Lake of Peace’s leaders?” Wyatt asked, stirring Marek from his reverie.

“No,” Ako said. “Thank Noam. I will be able to mingle with our caravan and hide my identity that way.” She picked at mount’s reins. “They might not even know about me yet,” she said, although she sounded doubtful.

“There won’t be any problems,” Marek said, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel. He had thought Velaire had been vicious until he studied and later met the various denizens of the Huzha Desert. “I promise.”

“This could be a problem,” Wyatt murmured as they neared the tribal leader of the Lake of Peace. “He looks like he’s ready to fight.”

Marek looked over the tribal leader as they came closer. He was tall and broad, which was unusual for a Kulok, who were usually short and thin. He wore white robes that looked light and expensive, and his camel was outfitted with armor, which clinked in the soft breeze that also pulled sand every which way along the desert floor. He had dark hair cropped short to the point he was almost bald. His face was weathered, looking as though it belonged on a much older man’s face. He stood alone, but Marek knew that they weren’t.

To gain access to the Lake of Peace, there was a narrow path on top of a massive sand dune that then led down to the Lake. Only about three could ride abreast, and even that was uncomfortable. There were probably archers or spearmen all around them, ready to pop up right next to them, and Marek would never notice. Ako could, Marek thought, barely restraining himself from cursing her family out loud. Damn her idiotic family.

“One,” the Elder called, holding up a hand. “Only one may come close.”

Wyatt had already slowed his mount. Marek nodded to him in appreciation, but before he could ride by, Wyatt had grabbed his arm. “Be cautious,” Wyatt said. His voice was low, and his eyes never left the tribal elder. “There is something strange about this man.”

“I’ll be careful,” Marek said.

Wyatt nodded back and released him, and Marek rode by until he was about ten paces from the man.

“I greet you, Zak,” the Elder called, speaking with a light accent, which made sense considering how many ‘Outlanders’ he spoke to. His face was expressionless, but he dipped his head fractionally, barely keeping with custom. “May our goddess, Noam, protect you with her light.”

“I greet you, Elder,” Marek said, not reacting to the Elder’s use of the Kulok term for Magician. It wasn’t surprising that he recognized his robes, but it was potentially unwelcome if he didn’t like magicals, which was probable.

Marek bowed his head low and held it for the required length of time, feeling incredibly exposed as he did so. “Noam protect you. I am Marek, and I come with a caravan that requires resupplying for our journey.”

“Outsider, you come in perilous times,” the Elder said. He frowned, and Marek almost palmed his wand as he seemed to look right through him to his core. Dangerous, Marek thought. Extremely dangerous. He hadn’t given his name in return, a deliberate social snub. It’s a good thing that Wyatt isn’t here; otherwise, he would Challenge him and get us all killed. “You seek our water, do you not? Strange that is you speaking to me and not one of our own.”

“I was chosen due to my understanding of the Kulok people,” Marek said. He licked his lips, wishing he had enough water to cool his sore and aching throat. “I have come to negotiate.”

“Impressive,” the Elder said with a sneer, switching to his native language. “You have learned our tongue. Many foreigners wouldn’t even attempt such a feat.

“It was a worthy challenge,” Marek said. “I have always been intrigued by the hardiness of the Kulok people who managed to survive in such an unforgiving place.”

“Spare me,” The Elder snapped, looking as though he wanted nothing better than to run him through. Marek tensed, but instead of launching forward he stayed where he was, looking like he had smelled something foul. “70 gold coins.”

Marek sneered. Does he think me an imbecile? “Five gold coins,” Marek said.

The Elder’s eyes narrowed. “You insult me,” he said.

“I do not take kindly to those who would insult my intelligence,” Marek said. He raised a hand, making the Elder tense, but Marek ignored the man as he pretended to scratch at his chest, touching the pendant through his robe. There was nothing, which was disappointing, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Not yet, at least.

“Fifty-five gold coins,” The Elder spat. He seemed angry, far angrier than he should for such a common negotiation.

“Twenty.”

“Fifty-four.”

“Twenty-one.”

“Your negotiation skills are lacking,” The Elder said. For some reason, he was beginning to look amused. “Fifty. One per head.”

Why am I not surprised that he had us followed on the way here? Marek thought, considering the man’s latest offer. It wasn’t terrible, but they were still on the third day of their journey. Might as well see how low he is willing to go.

“Thirty.”

“Now you are truly testing my patience,” the Elder said, his amusement vanishing as he narrowed his eyes. “I will do fifty. You will need other supplies than our water, even if the state of your clothes suggests that you’ve only been journeying for only a few days. Water is hard to find, and without guides, you’ll never find enough to keep your caravan going.”

“Forty,” Marek said, and before the Elder could protest, he kept going. “And I will heal anyone who needs it. Just one, as I will need my strength, but I will heal them to the best of my abilities.”

“You would volunteer your gift?” The Elder said, his anger switching to wide-eyed bafflement.

“Yes. Do we have an accord?”

The Elder looked him over. For a moment, Marek felt like he was back in Velaire, taking a test before a particularly stringent examiner.

“We have an accord,” The Elder said, his voice and flat face screaming his reluctance. He spat on his hand and tapped his mount, urging it to Marek. “I agree to these terms.”

Marek spat on his hand and shook the Elder’s, forcing any hint of disgust at what he was doing to not show on his face. “Agreed. I thank you, Elder.”

“Yarran,” Yarran said. He gripped Marek’s hand tightly, pulling him closer. “Call me Yarran, Outlander.”

With that, Yarran released Marek’s hand, turned, and rode off. Marek watched him go, waiting until he was far enough away until he wiped his hand on his robes.

“That went better than expected,” Wyatt’s said, riding up to Marek. “Any potential problems?”

Marek began to answer but then hesitated. Yarran hadn’t liked him for the start, and every move he made screamed reluctance and anger toward him. “Possibly,” Marek said. “Be on your guard. I promised healing, so we’ll do that before we leave.”

“Sensible,” Wyatt said before turning back to the caravan and waving it forward. “Let’s go.”