They wasted no time fleeing back to their accommodations. Rook never felt so much in his life like he was outrunning an arrow. Dirty looks followed after them, but true to the Arena Master’s word, no violence came.

His heart still raced by the time they stopped and gathered themselves. Close calls with death never grew old, and though his mind didn’t dwell on them for long, his body couldn’t so soon forget the stress.

Rest came and breath returned beneath the shade by their cabins.

“Fourteen tides, that’s seven days,” Rook said. “Think they’ll come for us on the eighth?”

“I don’t plan to find out,” Jason said.

Pyraz greeted Rook with whines of excitement. He was rewarded the affection any loyal dog deserved. He then wasted no time licking the blood from Rook’s half-naked body, still attired for gladiation. Most of it was the snake’s, so he didn’t mind.

“I missed you too,” Rook said.

“You have a dog?” Jason said. “Forget it. Let’s get out of here before they change their minds.”

“And go where?” Astera said.

“Jump down a well, I don’t know. Anywhere but here. You can charter a ship, right? You have money?”

“A goodly fortune,” Rook nodded, “in debt owed by the arena. We forgot to collect.”

“Great. Just—great. There must be some ship willing to take us.”

“Sam’al is hardly a busy port, and it is not the season of their harvest,” Astera said. “You could be waiting weeks in the open before such a vessel arrived.”

“A day might be too long,” Rook said quietly. “The risk is too great. We head for Arqa.”

“That’s a hundred miles inland!” Jason said.

“I heard stories,” Aletheia said. The sudden reminder of her presence took all of them aback; she had fallen silent since their victory. Her victory. “Of tombs. And other things. There are stories.”

“Great,” Jason said. “You want to play adventurer, tomb raider, gladiator—your funerals. I’m going home.”

“It’s not playing!” Aletheia said. “We killed the bugbears of Kaimas, and the hobgoblins in Swep-Nos!”

“Wow, and I haven’t heard of you? Some shock.”

She pressed forward now, growing more confrontational. “Who even are you?”

“Jason, but don’t bother learning it, because I’m not sticking around.”

“We rescued you!”

“Against my will, as it happens. But thanks anyway.”

The ground around Rook still wobbled. His injuries weren’t life-threatening, but they were unpleasant. It took him a moment to prepare himself for intervention. Once ready he stood, reaching to grab Aletheia by the shoulder—gently.

“It’s okay.” Then to Jason: “Your decision,” he said, “but you won’t be safe here alone. Come with us, at least to Arqa.”

A few hours together and Rook knew how to get at Jason already. He hesitated after that.

“Look. You want me to say ‘thanks’ for your crazy plan? Thanks. But I’m a scribe, not an adventurer.”

Rook slapped Jason on the back. “You didn’t cut yourself once in all the battle, we’ll make a warrior of you yet. Killing monsters is just like dipping a quill in ink. Only the ink stains worse and smells—different. And the paper screams, and fights back.” The display of joviality was taxing him, but he smiled anyway.

Jason frowned. The water was visible from where they were then: not a single ship in sight. That wasn’t definitive, but then they had no money—almost literally—and could never afford transport for all four of them. Seafaring was not an option.

And to be honest, Rook didn’t want to leave. He was an adventurer. He intended to keep his party safe, but Darom was a good place for business. Arqa was perfect for their next destination…if only they could get there. He continued:

“You can come with us and earn a living as part of the group or stay here and try to convince a captain to take you. But we’re going to Arqa. We won’t pay for your travel. We can’t, and we don’t owe you.”

He probably would have, if he could have, but Rook could only try so hard to save someone from himself. Eris proved that. So he didn’t push the point any further—but he did hope Jason would reconsider.

Jason’s eyes shut in frustration. His fists clenching. “Fine,” he said at length. “I’ll go with you. But one take, enough to get out, and I’m leaving.”

“Deal,” Rook said. “Now. Call me irrational, but I’ve decided I rather dislike this town. I think we should leave presently.”

“Can we at least make lunch in the shade?” Aletheia said.

Rook cocked his head. He hadn’t eaten in…a very long time. Yes, he supposed, that much was worth the small risk it carried.

They prepared their rations as if at camp, outside, ready to flee at a moment’s notice, but beneath the awning hung before their cabins. It was surprisingly cool there. Rook spent most of the time with his eyes closed, trying hard not to think, but he caught a glimpse of a scene between Aletheia and Astera shortly before they departed.

“Keep this,” Astera said. She handed Aletheia a dagger. In Elvish, or the script of the Old Kingdom (Rook didn’t know the difference), was the name Pyraz. The same dagger they found in the Spire, that Eris had found, that Zydnus had carried for months before his death. “Hide it well. Only bring it out in emergencies.”

Aletheia nodded, taking it. “I will.”

Astera clutched her hand, then gave a hug. “You saved our lives today.”

“You’ll keep teaching me to use a bow, right?”

“I might not have much to teach before long.” Astera smiled.

Aletheia withdrew. Her voice quieted to a whisper, but Rook still overheard. “Why wouldn’t you jump down after him?”

A long pause. “There’s no point rushing into fights we can’t win.”

“We did win!”

“You don’t always know beforehand,” Astera said.

Silence hang along with Aletheia’s head. “He would have helped you no matter what.”

“Maybe. But I have to look after you, too. Is it worth throwing both of our lives away for that of a single mortal man?”

Mortal man. Rook glanced upward—he had been dozing. What did mortality have to do with it?

“Life is precious, Aletheia,” she added. “We can’t be reckless with it.”

Aletheia stared into the fire. She said nothing.

Daromese sand burned bare skin. Traversing the dunes north of Sam’al was like walking on boiling water; the drops permeated Rook’s boots as easily. Pyraz, for his part, didn’t seem to mind.

“The name means ‘Man of Fire’ in Elvish,” Astera explained as he bounded through a bank, tail wagging, tongue out. “Perhaps he bears an enchantment.”

“Or he’s too stupid to mind being burned,” Jason said. “You know. Like a dog.”

“Even dogs feel pain.”

“No shit? They teach that in Elf School?”

Rook focused on the sky ahead. Blue. Like always. Without celestial movement the only way to navigate forward was the view of the mountains in the distance, beyond which they’d find Arqa. The season, late spring, was far from the harshest part of Darom’s year, but even two miles in this sun was enough to make a man see spots. Aletheia maintained the same reservations; she trailed behind them all, drawing her new dagger from its sheath, revering it as if it were the most precious thing on Earth.

An hour later and Sam’al had just disappeared from the horizon behind them.

Jason stopped.

“Okay! I give up!”

“Already?” Rook said, turning.

“I’m going back, I’m waiting for a ship, and I’m going home! I can’t believe you ever talked me into this…”

Jason did an about face and stumbled back in the direction from which their footprints marred the desert, kicking up a storm as he went. Rook shared a glance with Astera and Aletheia.

“But it’s only another ninety miles,” Rook said.

“More like ninety-five,” Astera said.

“I’d rather be back in my cell!” Jason called.

“You should have left him there,” Aletheia muttered.

“They won’t put you back in your cell,” Rook called, “they’ll have your head!” But no response came. Rook called after him again, tailing him to the ridge of a nearby dune. “You can’t go back alone—”

He crested the ridge. Jason stood there, mouth open, staring down toward the town. Far in the distance Rook saw the miraged silhouettes of a handful of men astride huge horses, all lumbering in their direction.

They carried spears.

Now Rook’s mouth was open, his eyes squinted, trying to make the figures out. He realized only after a minute of staring that their horses weren’t horses. They were proportioned very much like draught animals but covered in scales that glinted in the oppressive light of the sun, like green and teal-painted armor.

One rider raised a spear in their direction.

Jason turned and stumbled into Rook.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Arqa!”

“Arqa,” Rook said. "Let's go."

Long stretches of sleep were impossible without night’s signal. They napped instead, wrapping themselves in linens, pitching their blankets in the sand. Astera knew a spell to conjure small amounts of ice—she’d used it in battle before—which thawed quickly into water, giving them all a chance to wash, wet, and refresh themselves. Even so, the first twenty hours of the journey were some of the most miserable Rook knew in all his life. He felt constantly overheated; he was endlessly dirty; he ceaselessly tasted grime on his tongue; he perennially felt grit in his teeth; he eternally craved another nap.

Beyond stretches of cactuses with pale green skin, there were ruins buried beneath the sand. Obelisks of yellow stone. Titanic pillars surrounded by dust. Inland the whole of Darom was like a coral reef for the Old Kingdom, or maybe something else entirely, something even older. The dunes were their shroud. When he had the wherewithal to think clearly, Rook wondered what treasures, what secrets, laid buried underfoot—and that was enough reminder that this was the right place for an adventurer. Even if the sun was very, very hot.

Near the journey’s thirtieth hour they saw snow in the distance. An island of dull white within the sea of orange and brown, like an oasis the wrong color, even though the sky remained clear.

It was an oasis. Palm trees, shrubs, thick foliage—all covered in a white coat, like Chionos, except…

It wasn’t snow. The leaves themselves were white. It was an albino jungle.

They spotted water in the distance, a pond through the trees. And shade.

Aletheia laughed. She skipped toward the water—

Pyraz barked.

“Wait!” Rook called. He turned to Jason. “What dwells here?”

The sunburnt and exhausted Jason stared at Rook like he’d just spoken a different language. He wiped sweat from his forehead. “I don’t know.”

“Hasdrubal was from Arqa.”

“That’s what they said.”

“Do you think it’s unsafe?” Astera said.

“I think if I were going to call someplace in Darom home,” Rook said, “it would be here.” Aletheia stopped. “Let’s be careful.”

Together they proceeded toward the oasis. The vegetation was thick and the canopy, despite its color, dense enough to give so much shade that, to their overloaded eyes, it seemed almost completely black beneath.

Rook felt humidity in the air. Water against his skin. It was delicious. A tinge to dampen the heat. He instructed the party to wait until their eyes adjusted to the shade. There he heard, for the first time since they left Rytus, birds chirping overhead. Life.

Once he could see, he led the way toward the pond.

There, at its banks, sat a beast with a lion’s body. Fur the exact color of the sand in the dunes: deep orange. But its head was not a lion’s head. Its neck was long and serpentine, like that of an ostrich, and at the top heaved the feathered head of an eagle. The beast’s tail lapped against the water; it was as long as the whole of the body twice over.

Rook extended a hand, motioning for everyone to stop.

The neck raised. Feathers extended in the air. Eyes shot in their direction, alerted.

A bow twanged. Leaves rustled in response to an arrow. The beast squawked, then stumbled; an arrow hit it clean in the chest, near the heart.

Astera held her own bow in her hand. She was a huntress.

Rook jumped toward the pond, drawing his sword. It felt good to hold his real sword again. He felt the grip, aligned the edge, and, sizing up the eagle’s head, stepped to the side and sliced.

The head fell to the ground. The body followed. Pyraz rushed to its side, sniffing.

It wasn’t much bigger than a lion. More animal than monster, chimeric thought it was. Rook put his sword away.

“What is it?” Aletheia said.

Everyone looked to Jason. He stared at the carnage, then, with eyebrows raised, said, “Uh. Dinner?”

Surreal, perhaps, but the oasis was a refreshing stop, peaceful without its apex predator then-on. They took their longest rest there and bathed in the pond, and they wasted not Astera’s hunt. The beast was unbelievably sweet when cooked. Tough. Not nearly so much like chicken as the feathers might imply, but then Rook never tasted eagle before.

They never wanted to leave, if it meant braving the sun once more. But it was only another thirty miles, maybe forty, to Arqa—and they didn’t have the rations to spare on luxury.

The humans slept for ten hours at least. When they awoke their skin peeled off from sunburns. The misery was at least partially blunted for being shared.

“I miss Rytus,” Aletheia said.

“You left Rytus to come here?” Jason said.

“Under pressure of pursuit,” Rook said.

A small village called Ya’diya laid not far beyond the oasis. Its outskirts were littered with more white plants, pale cactuses, light green shrubs. A market rested at the village center, covered, as in Sam’al, by a tall awning. The people regarded them suspiciously.

Rook sold the sword he used at the arena for a pittance and purchased white robes for himself, Aletheia, and Jason. That would be much cooler and save their skin from the worst indignities of the sun’s oppression. They restocked rations as best they could, then once again proceeded out into the wastes.

The going was easy after that, relatively. Until the sky darkened with storm clouds.

The whole desert smelled sweet.

“Figures,” Jason said. “Just great.”

At first there was only a drizzle. Not enough to disrupt their journey. It was almost nice. The relentlessly soft sand underfoot hardened to walkable mud. The air cooled. Water felt nice—and the sun was, finally, vanquished from the sky. But it didn’t take long at a drizzle before the dehydrated desert had drunk all it could.

That was when flooding started.

Inch-by-inch, the dunes became an ocean’s floor. Each divot a river, each hill an island. Soon there was no choice but stop, for fear of disorientation as much as drowning.

Thunder and rain together deafened. But Astera pulled Aletheia aside, saying something, mouth moving silently, as Rook looked out upon the vast deluge about them. The torrents drained into an arroyo, as grand as the Hepaz River now. The landscape was almost unrecognizable.

“Come here!” Astera screamed. Rook turned. The rest of the party was gathered about her at the highest top on the hill, the hair from both of the women snapping against their heads like flags in a tempest. He obeyed, and once close Astera said, “Just like we practiced.”

Aletheia nodded. She closed her eyes. The roar from the storm grew louder. Her hair, dark blonde but brown when wet, streaked across her eyes. And then…

A shimmering golden bubble extended around them, from Astera’s feet to Jason’s back, enveloping them.

Silence fell. Not even thunder made it through the shield.

Aletheia coughed, falling down to the ground.

Astera sighed. “I will sustain it for as long as the storm lasts.”

“Can you do that?” Jason asked.

“I can,” she said. “But it will be taxing.”

“Enough time for us to eat dinner,” Rook said. He shivered. They made camp there, without fire, and in the darkness of the storm and the cover of the shield, all but Astera even found brief rest.

When the storm was over some hours later, all the heat in the sand was tapped. The sun was still hot, although not the hottest Rook had ever known, but the air was cool. The last twenty hours of their journey, as they approached long distant blue mountains, were the easiest by far. It was nearly nice.

Rook spotted a Spire. It leaned, halfway tilted over, shooting out from the dunes and into the atmosphere. Unlike the Spire in Rytus it was placed in an area of seemingly no significance, with no vantage point whatsoever. From its base extended a stretch of the Oldwalls. They stretched out toward where the party now intended to pass. A thousand feet high. A hundred miles, maybe more, as far west as the horizon and then much farther, bisecting all of this part of Darom, and then, where they passed it to the east, it stopped. Just like that. The segment of the Oldwall rose out of the desert like a tidal wave, then ended suddenly before shore. It simply stopped.

No second Spire. No turret. Nothing at all. The rest of the wall was simply missing, with no sign of the ruins—and colossal ruins they would have been—for the remaining half. All the same to him, Rook though. Good, even. The wall would have caused trouble, blocking their way forward. But still. He couldn’t help but wonder what happened.

He might have thought they had simply given up building the wall entirely, were it not for how it severed. A jagged, uneven, crumbling cut, where rubble of cyclopean bricks barred entrance into the Oldwalls’ interior.

“The Spires and the Oldwalls were the greatest constructs of the Old Kingdom,” Astera said as they gazed upon the ruins. “The Elves left no greater sign of their domination over the natural world. Nothing of their like will ever be built again.”

Jason hmphed. “The Old Kingdom wasn’t run by Elves.”

“Yes, it was.”

“No one believes that but the Senerians. Come on, Rook. Can you believe this?”

“I failed history class,” Rook said. He looked to Aletheia and frowned, whispering, “I’m a truant.”

“No one knows who the Magisters were precisely, but only the Elves have preserved their ways. We are their inheritors. That is true, Jason,” Astera said.

“We do know, because we have history books. You could read them. I—forget it. I don’t care. Believe whatever you want.”

“It’s all rubble anyway,” Aletheia said. “Who cares who built it?”

Those who have no other claim to fame, Rook thought, but instead he said, “Jason is right, it doesn’t matter. We’re near the mountains. It isn’t far now.”

Arqa was an enormous valley. Hills marked their approach. They ascended from the dunes and into higher desert, where more strange white and pale green plants awaited them, and soon they found a passage through the rocks.

Carved into stone was a stairway. It led through a narrow canyon, steeply downhill, and then they saw it. The whole of the Arqa Valley. From on high it seemed a kingdom unto itself. The mountains that formed the valley’s walls were so sheer and so tall that they looked like the Oldwalls themselves, except ten times as high.

Nestled within it all was a vast, vibrant desert, filled with forests of shrubs, trees, and cactuses, and at the center, an enormous lake.

And ruins everywhere. Statues. Structures, huge. Obelisks. Towers, and villages, too, several of them, the largest at the lake’s shore.

Three civilizations’ worth of plunder strewn between two mountain ranges. More than anything else were the pyramids: giant tan pyramids, half a dozen of them throughout the valley, distinct even at great distance, surrounded by hills, so inaccessible that they would have been impossible to build even with magic. But then Arqa had changed a great deal since the days of the Old Kingdom, and Elves or not, the Magisters were not the ones who built those pyramids. That honor belonged to someone else.

Rook had never seen such a perfect place for adventuring. He smiled, and so he led his party down into Arqa.