Taba shot up the moment she spotted the man walking her way. Had they realised her ploy? Of course not. The simpletons didn’t have it in them.

She nodded to herself. There was nothing to fear. In fact, they merely arrived to announce their complete and utter surrender to her authority as count.

Taba blinked, placing one hand below her chin. Hadn’t she renounced that title? Surely after Barra had left, her title and all rights she had while supervised by Zanzabarra had also been evicted from her. She peered at the approaching man, but they didn’t know that.

The great count Taba rose to her full height and brushed the dust off her cloak. She peaked her chin in the practiced way her formers did.

Only seconds later, the man arrived. He was unarmed, tall and bore wavy head of hair that reminded her a lot of the degenerate.

Taba had never been excellent and remembering faces, especially those of peasants. In fact she made an effort to forget peasant faces. Yet this man was definitely one she had run into before.

“Ah we meet again.” Greeted the man. He produced one hand towards her.

She looked at in disgust. To think he’d expect to shakes hands with her? The nerve.

Taba puffed and looked away, “I am Count Taba.”

The man laugh followed what Taba could only consider act almost as heinous as something the degenerate would do. It was an incomprehensible incompetence that only an incongruent imbecile could posses.

He had placed his hand on her head.

“A short one, aren’t ya?” he laughed again.

“You- you Callous Curr!” she barked, unable to wrench his hand while he happily ruffled the little hair on her head.

The man finally let go, prompting Taba to pace some steps back.

“I may have seemed a lot mo severe back den. Apologies.” He started, not once relenting his deceitfully happy face, “Da situation demanded it, so I couldn’t take any chances not even wit a child. Let us start again, eh?”

“How dare you! I am a count!”

The man scratched his head dumbly and pointed at her accusingly, “I tought ya said ya name was ‘just Taba’.”

Taba blinked, “Dat was you?”

“Oi oi, ya didn’t forget me already? Den we really be starting a new. Listen, girl, I told da mouse back dere dat he could use a rival while he trains, but da truth be I don’t like seeing a girl go hungry and witout shelter while she follows us.”

“I am NOT following ya.” She corrected, “Just walking to da same destination.”

“Oh is dat right?”

“Indeed.”

“Den do ya want to walk wit us to dat same destination?”

Taba crossed her arms, and bobbed her head as if she was considering it. The truth was, and she could never admit it, that she hadn’t a clue on where to go. Barra could’ve been anywhere. And even if she found him, what then?

“Fine.” She snipped, “Only til I’m dere, but I will not ‘fight’ wit or whateva ya call what dat degenerate does. I am beyond dat.”

“I’ll give him da bad news den. Follow me.” He gestured, turning back to his company.

What ensued was the longest ten minutes of Taba’s life.

She sat there, crossed legged at the other side of the road whilst a number of eyes scanned her curiously every so often, including the degenrates’.

Aside from that boy sat a woman she scarcely remembered with beads on braided hair locked in a frivolous argument with the imp of a man. Something about the length of pack serpents or the other.

Taba’s eyes reared back to the boy. He looked away at that moment, no doubt with brows narrowed behind his hair.

“Catherine, another of our companions, and the prince be out sight seeing in case ya be wonderin’.”

Taba shifted to the side as the man from before lowered beside her for a seat.

“I’ve met Caterine before.” Admitted Taba,

“Oh? Ya be from Galokin den?”

Taba shook her head, “On da boat ta Gin.”

“On dat boat?” brimmed Azhar, “Did ya happen ta see a Torvirn man wit same eyes as ya on dat ship?”

How could she forget? That man practically spent every day sparring with Barra, every time besting the bitter fool, sometimes even with cheap tricks.

“He be an excellent swordsman, for a foreigner.”

“Aye, he’s a childhood friend of mine.”

“What?!” Taba nearly choked after hearing that.

“Is it dat surprising?” laughed Azhar, “He and anudda friend of ours made a famous trio. Dough I’d say I was still da strongest of em.”

“Did he eva best ya in a fight?”

“Plenty of times.” Reminisced Azhar, “Dough I’ve beaten him plenty mo. I heard he was training anudda man on dat ship.”

Taba seized up.

“Everyday or so. Catherine told us about it. Did ya happen ta see dem fight?”

Taba gulped, “A couple times.”

“Did da man happen ta best my friend at all?”

Taba couldn’t help smiling as she heard that, “Not at all.”

“Den he has a long way ta go.” Sighed Azhar.

“Do.” Started Taba slowly, “Do ya know dat man?”

“Call it a vested interest. I fought him back in Ezmir.”

“Dat was you?!”

Azhar stifled back a laugh, “How is it ya get surprised by every ting I say?”

“I merely heard da tales.” Lied Taba, “Yes. I heard stories dat da lord Zanzabarra himself was bested by a commoner. I tought it was absurd when I heard it really. ”

“Word travels fast.” Gawked Azhar.

“Taba!”

The particular screech of the prince made its way to Taba ears just the boy himself teetered to a stop before her.

“You know her?” said Azhar.

“Yes! From Ezm-”

Taba clasped her hand over his mouth. She produced a twitching grin, “I met him last night before ya got back.”

“She’s also the one who stitched his wound.” Added an approaching Catherine.

“Ya helped Sol?” Azhar scratched the back of his head and cursed a loud, “Spirits! Ta tink I made ya sleep in da hall way.”

“You what?” roared Catherine.

Azhar held up a hand to stop Catherine’s mad march. He faced the girl in question, “Again, my apologies. I didn’t know. If dere be anyting we can do dat be witin reason ta repay ya, just say so.”

Taba lifted an accusing finger in front of her. She levied that formidable digit at the only point of contention she had within that camp.

“Den, can we banish da degenerate?”

Azhar burst into a laughing fit while Catherine shook her head, smiling.

“You two cannot get along, can you?” sighed the scholar.

Taba glowered at the boy. Not a chance.

Besides her limited interactions with the degenerate. The rest of the motley gang proved to be… not as horrid as she imagined they’d be. The bald man, later revealed to her as Toftof, was surprisingly open to her, and often times let her have some of his food if the rations that night were low.

The other noble, Prince Sol, also seemed to be a genuinely happy creature. Despite the calls for his death. In fact, on the day Taba spent walking with him and Manama, she’d often question why anyone would even consider harming such an innocent boy. Merely watching the prince babble and giggle about as he splashed along the riverside was thing of joy. His only downside was his unfathomable affection towards the degenerate. Taba did not feel she had the authority to inquire about their past, not yet, but watching them spend hours together gave her a longing to know why. Why him? Was it the closeness of their age? When the boy wasn’t with the degenerate, or being tended to by Manama, he’d often spend his time with Catherine, the only Galokinian of the group.

Catherine, the woman who saw to her rescue that day along with Barra happened to be well caught up on noble affairs more than she let on. Every minute spent with her proved to be wealth of information to Taba. Truly, her knowledge of magical systems was unparalleled. Even Taba, a powerful caster on her right, sought to delve into some of the types of magic Catherine lectured on about. Besides her, there was only one other who could have been knowledgeable on magic. Yet the way she spoke seemed almost incomprehensible at times.

The fortune teller Mother Manama, as she called herself, was truly the strangest of the bunch. Taba had heard her name tossed about a few times after Ezmir, but nothing could be garnered from that. She was a mystery forever buried in the sands. Though of the person that was there, she was more of a story teller than a conveyer of fortunes. Like Toftof, she always had her eyes on the degenerate for some reason. There was more to their relation, Taba could tell. Not tat it mattered, the relations of peasants, but her consistent insistence to pay the boy attention made even a noble such as Taba a little curious. Naturally to garner more information, she visited Catherine during one of their night stops on the way to Bazaar, as Catherine was the gossiper of the bunch. Unfortunately, Catherine knew not of Manama either and so the eternal mystery remained a mystery. A mystery almost as enticing as the tale behind the final man in the group.

Azhar was the leader. He held in dominatable grasp on command, such that it was not once intruded upon by either the sand rat or the teller, not even the scholar. He was also an enigma, but in a different way to Manama. Zanzabarra knew much of the man and would often complain about him as he slashed away at his training targets. According to Ade, it was both Toftof and Azhar who bested Zazabarra that day, but it was Azhar who left a lasting impression. Taba knew the man was the dog of Lamanori, that he done something horrible in the past that he’d be called as such. Yet his connection to the degenerate? Nothing. He had obvious ties of family to the boy, but what? Catherine said they were not father and son, which gave Taba a compounding sense of relief much than she thought it would, but what then? An uncle? A coincidence? Either way Taba could not comprehend how anything as noble, as forthright and commanding as Azhar could ever be related to the debauched tulek that was the degenerate. The mere thought made her shiver.

Taba craned her neck to the brightening skyline. There were mountains there, as big as the towers. The single river they called their companion now waded into the distance as more and more signs of the drylands began to appear around them. The greenery had become a show of grass as golden as her eyes. The farmers had all but vanished.

This was not arable land. No longer the domain of Gin. Tala had drilled the geographies of Ilivanmar into Taba ages ago. Back then, her sister’s insistence that she learned such thing was little more of a nuisance to the girl who wanted nothing but to find her family’s killer. Yet now it was a blessing. Azhar knew the way of course so the company followed him. But for little queries about their surroundings Taba acted as the guide. Even though she had been with them for little more than week, she had already become an essential member.

She cupped her brow as her eyes pressed against the horizon. In two weeks of travel the river would disappear and along with it, the grasslands. From there on they would bare upon the mountain paths to the west. After the mountains, they’d be back to the desert. Everyday would become another threat of a sandflow.

“Ya eva seen dem, princess?”

Taba spied Azhar, “Dun call me dat, I’m a noble not royalty.”

“Every girl be princess ta somebody.” Disputed Azhar.

The girl lowered her head, “Dat somebody be dead.”

“Really? I tink I’m quite alive.”

Taba smiled at the man, who simply smiled back.

“Da mountains were once da natural walls protecting da people of Gin. Dat’s why Gin has been able ta freely farm so much. I just tink dey be incredible. A constant reminda of how small we be.”

“Are we really dat small if we can build tings bigga dan da mountains?” wagered Taba.

“Aye, princess. We be tiny.” Azhar reached for Taba’s head to ruffle it then stopped himself halfway, “Ah right, ya dun like dat, eh?”

“Well.” Croaked Taba. She straightened herself, “While you mustn’t touch da head of a noble, da noble may make exceptions fa dose she trusts.”

“Ya trust me?”

Taba grinned at Azhar as she searched for the answer. Traveling with the man was… different than traveling with Zanzabarra. Tala was the only person she truly trusted in a long while, and after she died, Taba could not for the life of her remember what trust really meant. In the past, she knew that if she let even a single nere-do well touch her skin, they could have killed her. Poison was not uncommon in illivanmar, especially in the lawless reaches of the free cities. Especially against agents of the crown who bore the power to destroy towers. Taba balled her hands.

But Azhar was different. Even as she glanced at him, she knew he would not harm her. Why? Because he gave her food and a place to stay? Because he made no such move to provoke suspicion? Something about the man, made her relent a seizeless struggle, even if a little. She was safe there.

“Yea.” She hushed.

“Oi old mon. what ya doing?”

Azhar let out an awkward laugh and retracted his hand, “Talking to da count here, ya should try it some time.”

Taba glared at the boy and the boy stared back. She was sure the moment he saw him. ‘Trust’ was something she’d never shared with the degenerate.