I

Alberic wiped the sweat from his forehead with a wave of his hand. When he signed up for this mercenary contract, he knew he would be doing a lot of walking and sweating as a result... but not to this extent. He looked up to see that he was not done being hot with the cloudless sky and the blazing sun.

Northern Elsweyr was a region known as Anequina. It was an arid and inhospitable place, and it didn't take Alberic long to hate it. A true dry, rocky desert stretched as far as the eye could see, covered with tall, yellowed grass, thorny cacti and puny shrubs. Occasionally, the bleached bones of a skeleton, human or animal, reminded everyone of the risks they were running in crossing this arid region. But it was a deceptive illusion to think that Anequina was a desert devoid of any life. The shadow of a rock could hide a poisonous snake, scorpions, both small and giant, could burrow only a few inches beneath the sand, and other equally deadly creatures roamed this desolate place, such as terror birds and dunerippers. Here, everything that lived was both prey and predator.

But what Alberic hated the most about this place was the dust. It was everywhere. It seeped into boots, crept into the seams of armor, irritated the eyes, and covered every bit of skin. Even the water tasted like dust. No matter how often Alberic chased it out of his clothes, it always came back.

He was a young breton[1] barely into adulthood, modest in stature and with an ever-curious green gaze. His medium-length hair was hazelnut in color and he regretted not having it cut for the journey across this desert.

His gaze was lost on the slow progress of the caravan he was accompanying. Half a dozen carioles and carts pulled by horses as tired and thirsty as their drivers were making their way along an old paved road half covered by sand. Armed mercenaries escorted the procession, alert and on their guard as they were keeping an eye on the surrounding desert. Since they had left Skingrad three weeks earlier, Alberic could not count the number of times they had been attacked by bandits. But the desert of Elsweyr was home to an even greater danger. An apex predator that everyone feared and no one was safe from... thirst.

The young man grabbed his wineskin to bring it to his lips when a firm voice stopped him.

- "How many times have I told you to save your water?"

Alberic suspended his gesture while glancing at Flavia. She was a tall woman, straight and proud. With graying hair and her right eye covered by an eye patch, she always had a stern glint in her eye. She was the captain of the mercenaries guarding the caravan and her past in the imperial legion was no secret as she still wore her centurion armor. Alberic did not understand how she could continue to wear it with such warmth.

The young breton finally obeyed her and put away his wineskin despite his dry throat... damn dust. Flavia turned away from him to call out to another mercenary who was straying a little too far from the trail. She always seemed to be there to lecture her men when they made the slightest mistake. Her discipline and adherence to the rules could be irritating in the long run but Alberic had to admit that she knew what she was doing. Many more guards would have died without her austere and rigid supervision.

The other mercenaries were, for the most part of them, from the province of Cyrodiil. They were tough guys, used to military life and the use of weapons. Many of them were former legionnaires, just like the captain. Alberic was often the target of their mockery because he was the youngest among them and many wondered why Captain Flavia had agreed to let him accompany them on this mission.

Their employer was a redguard merchant named Kewan Madar. He was a warm and cheerful man who shared the pains and efforts of his employees and not even the crossing of this damn desert could dampen his good mood. He had hired a Khajiit guide by the name of Kizar'Dar to help them get through the Anequina region safely.

The cat man always walked at the head of the procession on the back of his dromedary, guiding the caravan through the dunes and rocky escarpments. He was a curious character, mysterious and very discreet about his origins. He was also true to the reputation of dishonesty and lies that afflicted his people. Kizar never missed an opportunity to make up a story to his employer in order to negotiate better wages and many of the caravan guards complained that they had been robbed of their belongings. But even though all suspicions were directed at the khajiit, no one dared to accuse him in person. It would have been stupid to lose their precious guide in the middle of these desolate lands.

- "Make way!" shouted one of the cart driver.

Alberic stepped aside to let the cariole pass before wincing when he recognized it.

Their employer had hired more than just mercenaries to protect the caravan. He had also hired the services of an Altmer[2] mage named Imril. He was a man of few words and arrogant like almost all high elves. He had remained aloof during the entire trip, staying locked in his cariole and almost never talked to the other members of the caravan, whether they were mercenaries or simple employees. His main interlocutor was Kewan, the merchant, who never failed to stress the importance of his presence. When night fell and the campfires were set up, he sometimes got out of his carriage to enjoy the cool night air. While the men often mocked his stuffy, haughty manner, they were careful not to let the mage hear them. Even Alberic knew of the Altmer's reputation as formidable battle mages and no one wanted to risk provoking his anger.

- "Doesn't this damned desert have an end?" growled one of the mercenaries not far from Alberic.

- "I bet you this cat is as much of a guide as I am an emperor," his closest comrade whispered.

The khajiit stood in front of the column, motionless at the top of a dune and still perched on his dromedary. His gaze seemed to be lost in the distance. After a few moments, he finally hit the hindquarters of his mount with his long wicker whip to approach the convoy. He signaled to his employer to stop the caravan and started a long discussion with him.

- "And now, I bet you he'll come up with another nice story to increase his wage," said the first mercenary.

- "It's a quirk with these people...remember his story about the cursed sand?"

- "You bet." the guard sneered. "As if every grain of sand in a damn desert could have been cursed by the same wizard."

Alberic was too far away to hear the conversation between the merchant and their guide, but he could only agree with his fellow mercenaries. He was always very careful with his belongings when the khajiit was around and tried not to give too much credit to his fanciful stories.

After a few moments, the redgard merchant handed a purse to their guide. The khajiit weighed it with an expert hand before opening it to count its contents. He nodded his head before addressing a few final words to his employer. He struck his mount again with his whip and the dromedary trotted off in the direction of the desert. At the same time, Kewan Madar ordered the convoy to start moving again.

The guards exchanged surprised looks as the caravan slowly began to move again. Alberic was equally incredulous as he watched the figure of their guide walk away behind them. One of the mercenaries finally got down to the merchant's level and politely questioned him.

- "Sir. With all due respect, why is our guide leaving? Without him, we're going to have a hard time crossing the desert."

- "Because we don't need a guide anymore, soldier."

Alberic understood what their employer meant when the column passed the next dune. In the distance, he could see a large city surrounded by high walls, its vision undulating under the heat of the burning sun.

- "We have finally arrived in Rimmen." Replied the redguard with a smile.

* * * * *

Tauryon sighed as he climbed the stairs to the west wing of the palace. The old altmer was beginning to feel the weight of age and his limbs were not as strong as they once were. His knees still tortured him when he had to carry heavy loads or climb simple stairs.

He stopped for a moment in front of one of the windows built into the wall that bordered the steps. From there he had a great view of Rimmen, the capital of Elsweyr. He could hear its incessant hubbub, like a distant whisper, as its inhabitants bustled about in the hot early afternoon. A feeling of nostalgia came over him as he thought of his homeland. Everything was orderly and calm, its inhabitants polite and courteous, and he dreamed of seeing the blooming nature of the Summerset Isles again. Compared to his homeland, Elsweyr and its inhabitants were a strange, messy picture. He sighed again before resuming his ascent of the steps.

He had gotten used to this life away from home and he doubted he would ever see his country again. Tauryon was a tutor for the children of the Khajiit nobility. This job had its advantages, starting with an honorable salary and a decent lifestyle. He took his job as an instructor very seriously and taught history, literature, arithmetic and poetry with great zeal. He made it a point to pass on his knowledge to future generations, even if they were of a different race.

He just wished his students were a little less turbulent and scattered… especially the one he was about to teach.

The old altmer paused at the top of the stairs to catch his breath... damn aging knees. He tidied up his robes a bit before walking up the richly decorated hallway. This wing of the palace was designed to receive guests of the Mane[3] of Rimmen, such as foreign diplomats and ambassadors, and Khajiit tribe leaders. His student of the day was none other than Princess Shazira, the daughter and second child of Khan Razirr'Ri. Tauryon remembered well her older brother, Sharr'Ri. A bright student with a keen and disciplined mind who diligently followed the lessons of the old teacher. His sister, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.

He sighed once more at the door to her room before knocking gently against the woodwork to announce himself.

- "Princess Shazira, it's time for your lessons."

There was no answer. The old altmer knocked again on the door, louder this time, while raising his voice. Still no answer. He finally pushed the door handle to get inside.

- « Princess ? »

The room, though modest in size, was comfortable and luxurious with rich drapes and soft pillows lining on the floor and furnitures. Two small parakeets chirped softly in their iron cage but other than those birds, there was no one in the room.

- "Where the hell is that turbulent kitten?" grumbled Tauryon.

He searched the room thoroughly but it seemed quite deserted. He frowned as he approached the balcony. It was there that he noticed the improvised rope formed from the bed sheets that reached down into the palace gardens. He stood there for a moment, silently looking at the crudely knotted cloths.

The old altmer sighed for the umpteenth time before returning to the hallway.

- "Guards!" he called at once.

* * * * *

Alberic felt as if he were coming back to life as he felt the cool water running down his face.

The caravan had stopped in one of the many caravanserais outside the walls of Rimmen. The mercenaries had immediately rushed to the wells and fountains to drink and refresh themselves. Captain Flavia had done or said nothing to prevent such a rush. She knew full well what her men had endured in the last few days and she seemed willing to give them a break. The former legionary was in the midst of a discussion with their employer as the caravaneers unloaded the goods from the carts under the watchful eye of the city guards. No doubt they were making sure that no contraband entered the walls of the capital.

The young mercenary filled his wineskin while observing the inhabitants of the place... he had never seen so many khajiits in his life. He had already met some, of course, when he was still living in Highrock and when caravans of itinerant merchants stopped in his village to trade. Even then, he had been told to beware of these polite and courteous cat people. They were thieves and liars, he was told, lazy and dishonest. Even as a child, he had been fascinated by the strange feline appearance of the khajiits and their exotic customs. It felt funny now to see so many of them in one place.

His gaze was lost for a moment on the impressive ramparts of Rimmen. They were high and solidly built, decorated with engravings representing lions and other big cats. Alberic was wondering how such a lazy and messy people could have built such an edifice when he was pulled out of his thoughts by Flavia's firm and brittle voice.

- "Soldiers! Gather around!"

The mercenaries immediately turned away from the wells and fountains to present themselves in good order before their captain. Their discipline had immediately taken over in the face of their superior's authority.

- "After a long journey, we have finally arrived at our destination. Our contract with our employer is coming to an end. I know that you are anxious to receive your pay and wages. Be patient, I will see to it. Until I negotiate with our employer, you have free time until tonight. I will meet you at sunset at the Inn of the Sugar Paw in the eastern district. There, you will receive your pay and your contract will end. Behave yourself in the meantime and don't make any trouble with the natives or your wages will be reduced. That will be all... dismiss!"

The mercenaries began to disperse, alone or in small groups, through the caravanserai. Some headed for the city gates, eager to get some rest and enjoy themselves before their pay was due.

Alberic hesitated for a moment. He wasn't sure if walking through a city populated entirely by khajiits, and therefore thieves, was a good idea. But curiosity eventually won out and he tightened the straps of his backpack before heading for the wide-open doors of the capital.

- "Just a moment, Al'!", Flavia held him back.

- "Y... yes, Captain?"

The young breton turned to stare at his superior with surprise. He feared he had made some mistake and expected her to reprimand him once again but she merely stared at him for a moment with her single eye before speaking again.

- "Be careful...and don't be late, tonight."

Alberic nodded. Since he had joined this company, Captain Flavia had always been very hard and strict towards him. She never failed to reprimand and punish him whenever she had the chance. Most of the mercenaries made fun of his lack of experience and the clumsiness that resulted from it, but only a few understood that their leader was only being protective of him by doing so.

The young Breton looked back at the wide-open gates of the city... he was curious to see what a Khajiit city could look like.

* * * * *

The streets of Rimmen were always crowded and noisy, no matter what time of day it was. The merchants were giving the sales patter, praising the quality of their goods with force. The terraces of the taverns welcomed workers in search of freshness and rest. Guards patrolled the streets and washerwomen chatted among themselves around the capital's many fountains. All this bustle created a constant and buzzing hubbub that brought the city to life. There was always a warm smell of spices, sweat and, of course, furs.

Shazira loved this atmosphere because this was how the Khajiits had always lived.

Concealed under a hooded cloak, the young khajiit walked the streets, her curious eyes gazing in wonder at everything around her. She loved to feel the warm sand under her paws, to breathe in the intermingled smells of the city and to observe the hectic and noisy life of the townspeople. She always looked with curiosity at the few passing strangers.

Most of them were merchants or adventurers and she always found them very strange with their smooth furless skin. Some had round ears and others pointed. Some had pink, yellow or even gray skin and they all had a strange and exotic accent to her cat ears. But she wasn't too fond of the ones called argonians[4]. These lizard men always made her uncomfortable because it was hard to read the emotions on their faces and their sharp little teeth made her feel like they were going to eat her alive.

Shazira jumped aside to avoid a cart crossing the street.

- "Be careful, missy," the driver said.

She couldn't help but smile. Here, no one knew her and no one cared. Here she was just like everyone else, a simple khajiit. She had to admit that she didn't get many opportunities to go out. She didn't understand why her father kept her locked up in the pavilion all the time. Her older brother, Sharr'Ri, was free to come and go as he pleased. So why couldn't she do the same?

It was said that she was sickly and fragile by nature. Nonsense! She was no skinnier or weaker than any other khajiit her age. Shazira was sure that her father was ashamed of her and kept her hidden because of her deformity.

So she ran away as often as she could despite the surveillance of the guards of her clan. She no longer counted the number of times she had run away in this way, under the nose of her exasperated father. She always came back to her family, of course, but she felt a strong need to discover the world around her that she was kept away from all the time. She learned much more from these escapades than from the long and boring lessons of her tutor, Master Tauryon.

The princess nonchalantly approached a fresh fruit stall where the vendor was busy weighing the produce ordered by a customer on a scale. With a quick and practiced gesture, she grabbed an apple from the stall and immediately hid it under her cloak. Not seen, not caught and, anyway, almost no one cared in this city. Young khajiits often challenged each other to this kind of innocent petty theft. It may not have been worthy of a person of her rank, but at least it made her feel like everyone else.

She passed several stalls of miscellaneous goods before pulling the apple out from under her cloak. A smile played on her face as she stared at her catch. Licking her lips, she was about to bite into it when a loud voice called out to her from behind.

- "Hey you there, with the hood!"

Shazira turned quickly, expecting to see the angry merchant chasing her. Two khajiit guards wearing weapons and armor stared at her, and she immediately recognized their saffron yellow uniforms. These men were members of her father's guard.

- "It's her!" one of them shouted before they dashed towards her.

The princess dropped the fruit in her hand as she ran in the opposite direction to escape them.

She slipped through the crowd, aided by her small size and slight build. Her pursuers were far less agile but the crowd instinctively moved aside as they passed. The young khajiit meandered through the streets of the bazaar trying to lose her pursuers, but they seemed determined to catch up. This was not the first time Shazira had been chased by her father's men. Sometimes she managed to get away from them and sometimes they managed to capture her. It was like a game to her and she enjoyed the adrenaline of the chase.

She was beginning to run out of stamina, however, and had to improvise to get rid of the guards on her tail. As she turned an alleyway, she grabbed a shelf with several large sealed jugs on it. The young khajiit pulled with all her might to knock it over despite the protests of the merchant who owned the stall.

The clay jars shattered on the ground, spilling a dark, sticky oil onto the pavement as the people around hurriedly moved away. The guards slipped on the spilled oil and, unable to alter their course, ended up in a display case full of vegetables.

Shazira burst out laughing at the sight of the two poor khajiits trying, as best they could, to stand up, their armor covered with salad leaves and crushed tomatoes. They grunted and swore uncontrollably before turning to the princess, still laughing.

- "You little... " one of them growled as he managed to get back on his feet.

The princess did not ask for more as the guards came after her again.

* * * * *

Alberic was fascinated by what he discovered.

He never thought he would discover such an exotic and extravagant city in his life, and certainly not in the middle of this inhospitable desert. There were stores and stalls galore, as if the whole city was a giant open-air bazaar. And the crowds... there were so many people that it was sometimes difficult to walk through the streets without stepping on someone’s feet. The Khajiit houses were unlike anything he had ever seen before, with their carved woodwork, sloping roofs, and very tall doors.

But what surprised him most was the abundance of water. The city was supplied by a gigantic aqueduct and fountains could be found on almost every street corner and in every garden. He was amazed to see the gigantic ponds in the main square of the city, where the water flowed clear and sparkling under the sun's rays. The inhabitants of Rimmen did not hesitate to bathe in or do their laundry in front of everyone. The young mercenary was even tempted to dip his feet in it, but he held back, judging that what might be decent for khajiits was not decent for him. After weeks in the desert, seeing so much water seemed incredible.

He continued to walk the streets of the capital, letting his curiosity run wild as he discovered another world. His steps eventually led him to the eastern part of the city. It was a popular area with as many merchants as ever and a large number of taverns and inns.

But even if he was impressed by the discovery of this new culture, he had not forgotten his prudence and Flavia's recommendations. He was careful to keep an eye on his personal belongings and always kept a hand on the purse hidden under the folds of his armor. The young breton did this with such insistence that all of Rimmen's pickpockets and thieves must now know where he kept his money hidden.

Alberic still had several hours to go before the sun set and he had to get to the rendezvous point agreed upon by his captain. He planned to stroll around a bit more in the meantime, and such a noisy and lively setting was welcome after crossing the dreary and barren desert of northern Elsweyr.

At the corner of a street, his eyes were drawn to what seemed to be the stall of a random junk dealer. The owner was an old khajiit with a long goatee under his chin and a loud voice who was selling an impressive jumble of curiosities. There was jewelry, copper dishes, brightly colored pottery, exotic and elegantly shaped oil lamps... it was a real bazaar. Seeing the merchandise, Alberic felt a sudden urge to buy a souvenir of some kind, a little trinket that would remind him of his first trip so far from home and that he could show off to his friends and family when he returned to Highrock.

He took a few steps toward the stall before he was suddenly struck by a hooded figure who emerged from a nearby alley. He collapsed heavily on the dusty ground, the body of his attacker lying on top of him. Coming to his senses, Alberic's first instinct was to make sure his purse was still in its place. Only then did he turn his gaze to the individual with the hidden face.

- "Pay attention! What is wrong with you?!" he shouted.

At these words, the individual's hood lifted and Alberic could see the face beneath. She was a young Suthay khajiit[5] barely out of her teens, although the age of an individual of that race was always difficult to determine accurately. She was a few inches shorter than he was and seemed to weigh nothing despite lying on top of him. Her fur was white, spotted with black and gray spots in the manner of snow panthers, and her facial features were soft and harmonious.

But what struck Alberic the most were her eyes.

They were as clear blue, like a cloudless summer sky. But the left one was different. Half of the iris was blue, just like the right eye, while the other half was a bright, almost golden yellow. The two colors were separated in the center of the eye by an ebony black pupil.

The young khajiit seemed just as surprised as he was and she began to babble nervously.

- "I... uh, I don't..."

- "She's here!" a new voice suddenly roared over the din of the crowd.

Raising his head, the young Breton could see two other khajiits who were ruthlessly pushing aside passers-by in their path. They were much taller, and more importantly, they were armed with long scimitars that hung from their belts. Their leather armor was curiously dirty and covered with pulp and other pieces of crushed vegetables. The two men approached them with a decided and visibly angry step.

At the sight of them, the young khajiit leapt to her feet to take refuge behind Alberic.

- "Help me, stranger!" she begged. "These bandits want to kidnap me!"

- "What?!"

He stood up immediately, bringing a hand to the hilt of his sword. On closer inspection, these cat men were quite threatening with their weapons and their gruff looks.

- "Stay back, brigands!" braved the young breton. "You will not touch her."

- "Stay out of this, stranger!" scolded one of the two khajiits.

Alberic finally drew his sword to dissuade them from approaching further. At the sight of his drawn weapon, they paused while the crowd around them gathered in a circle to observe the incident. The fighters stood there for a moment, still and silent, sizing each other up with their eyes.

- "Stay behind me, miss," Alberic warned. "Miss... ? "

He turned his head for a second to see astounded that the young khajiit with the white coat had disappeared.

- "What is going on here? In the name of the Khan Rizarr'Ri, step aside!" a voice thundered over the din of the crowd.

Three new armed khajiit pushed aside the passers-by to join the inner circle. Alberic looked at them and found the yellow of their outfit strangely familiar... it was the same as the one worn by the bandits. On closer inspection, he also noticed that the armor they wore was the same shape and design if you look through the lettuce leaves and crushed vegetables. Were they partners in crime? Or maybe...

- "Sergeant!" said one of the khajiits in dirty armor. "This man interfered and prevented us from bringing the princess back!"

One of the newcomers glared at the young mercenary as he drew his weapon.

- "In the name of the town’s order and the Khan Razirr'Ri, drop your weapon now!"

Alberic was now surrounded by armed khajiits. They were far too many for him, but above all, he was beginning to realize that he had made a mistake. These men were definitely not bandits!

Slowly, he lowered his weapon before dropping it to the ground while raising his hands.

- I surrender..." he began in an insecure voice. "This is all a misunderstanding, I have been tricked so that I..."

The young breton quickly understood that excuses and explanations would not be enough as clawed hands seized him with force to tackle him to the ground before beating him.

Notes

[1] Human ethnic group from the region of Highrock in the northwest of Cyrodiil.

[2] Elven race also known as "high elf". They are renowned for their affinity with magic and are native to the Summerset Isles located in the west of Tamriel.

[3] Khajiit title for the ruler of Elsweyr.

[4] A race of lizardmen from the black marshes southeast of Cyrodil. They move on two legs and are gifted with speech and intelligence. They have the reputation of being a primitive people.

[5] A subspecies of khajiit. The Suthay are significantly smaller than humans and represent, along with their Suthay-Raht cousins, the vast majority of the khajiits living in Tamriel.