Leaving the Valley was easy. They followed after refugees and ate leftover scraps like dogs. Any contingent of scared travelers was eager for the company of three strapping adventurers and their scribe, and though Rook couldn’t bear to meet anyone’s eyes, their part in making this calamity remained yet unknown.

“It would be best if we kept it that way,” Astera said as the caravan stopped to rest.

“If you don’t want them to find out,” Jason whispered, “maybe you should stop talking about it.”

“Who here speaks Kathar?”

Rook interjected, “Let’s hope we don’t find out, or our findings may be at the end of a pike.”

As before, and looking around, it did not take much imagination to bear witness to the immense suffering—the death, the loss, the destruction—wrought by Lord Arqa and invision who was really to blame. Between the ceaseless wails of women and the parched tears of orphans, the journey through Sungate Pass, the eastern canyon that led back out into the dunes of Darom, was like swimming through a sea of viscous sorrow. Rook couldn’t forget Aletheia, forget or forgive what was done to her, yet there was never pain in remembrance when awash with so much suffering. His own grief seemed a puddle in comparison to what he and his friends had caused.

At least Pyraz kept high spirits.

Yes, leaving the Valley was easy, as easy as ambulation, with no barriers but the choking heat of the ever-present sun and a few outjutting rocks. They never were at risk to starve or die from dehydration. But traveling with the broken Arqan refugees was anything but easy. Rook would’ve sooner faced down a nightmare of undead sandspiders before going another ten miles in that company.

Yet after twenty hours of travel they found themselves beyond the Valley’s walls, in the hills, descending toward the dunes, retreating back out into the wastes of Darom, where sand was plentiful as air and the white desert plants grew only in patches of oases. Arqa was a hot, miserable, inhospitable desert, but it was still a fertile place, full of life. These dunes were nothing but dead.

How ironic, then, they fled toward the dunes to escape Death itself.

The whole party gathered on a rocky overhang on a high perch. From there they surveyed their options.

“Sam’al is only one hundred miles back south,” Astera said. “From there we can charter a ship and travel along the peninsula’s edge, then up the Hepaz.”

“It’s farther,” Rook said. “We entered from the south. We leave from the east.”

“Think the scalies at the arena have forgotten us yet?” Jason said.

“Another risk best not to take,” Rook said. From now on his guiding principle was care, especially so long as Astera remained in the party. He intended to keep everyone alive.

They stared out at the wastes.

“We’ve overstayed our welcome in Darom,” he continued, “we walk straight to Erimos. We can catch our ship there.”

Jason scoffed, or maybe it was a gasp; a mocking laugh followed. “We’d have to cross the Erimos dunes! That’s the Sunbarrier. That’s the hardest overland trek in—anywhere!”

“Think how much sweeter a long rest in a boatride upriver will be for it,” Rook snapped.

“The rest won’t be sweet when we’ve all had our legs gnawed off by dunebeetles!”

“It’s fastest.”

“We could just kill ourselves now, that would save the most time. I’ve read the stories. I’ve heard them since I came here—”

Astera, whose airs were much sullener the last few tides (and Rook was happy to see it), interrupted, “The terrain is harsh, but you translated the priest’s history yourself. The journey is not impossible, and has become easier over time. I will lead the way across.”

“I can’t believe this,” Jason said.

“We cannot spare the time,” Astera said. “There is a town I visited once along the Hepaz’s mouth. It is called Portoantos; we will find it due east, if we make it to the shore. There we can find passage.”

Rook watched as their caravan packed up. The refugees, a few dozen in their party, went their separate ways: a few to the south, a few to the west. None to the east. None across the Sunbarrier.

To tell the truth, he couldn’t wait to feel the moon on his face again. And what was that feeling? Could he remember? It felt a lifetime since his last nightfall…

He remembered. That was it precisely. Nothing. How amazing it would be to walk outside and feel nothing from the sky.

“We go alone. If we make good time we cross the barrier by the end of the week—by the end of…” he tried to think of the word, but then he realized he didn’t care, “the week. Seven days.”

“‘Fourteen tides?’” Jason offered.

“I don’t ever want to hear that word again,” Rook said. “Now pack up. If you don’t want to come with us, that weeping widow yonder will take you along to Ya’diya. Having lost her children too I’m sure she’d be happy to babysit you in my place.”

Jason stared at Rook stunned, not accustomed to such maliciousness from their blond guardian. Rook left him there in silence. The words were hardly as evil as Jason deserved, but insults were not usually in his character. He was cognizant of that as he retreated. The last few ‘days’ had him in a poor mood.

It was telling that he still felt a tinge of guilt for the remark some hours later—yet not so much to be elevated back to joviality.

Leaving the Valley was easy. A short jaunt up some rocks, through some hills, past some trees.

Crossing the Sunbarrier was hard.

Rook remembered the feeling on their way to Arqa of dust invading every orifice. Dust in the ears, in the eyes, up the nose, down the throat and lining the lungs and esophagus, and between the webbing of all ten fingers, and every inch of his skin (exposed or otherwise). By the end of the trip he’d felt like a statue encased in plaster. He couldn’t move unless made wet first.

Those dunes had lasted inches compared to the vast wasteland before them now. Rolling dunes of fine orange sand that bubbled under the sun and clouded the air and choked even Astera, who Rook wasn’t convinced needed to breathe. For miles and miles and miles ahead, and presently behind, they saw nothing but sand. After the first twenty hours they saw nothing but sand when they gazed down at their arms, their clothes, legs, and hands. Nowhere escaped the invasion. More than once they lost each other in the new camouflage of their waste-colored companions: orange wanderers against orange dunes, the difference was hard to distinguish.

This was so much worse than the trip to Arqa.

They were poorly provisioned and ate nothing for two days. If it weren’t for Astera’s ability to conjure water they would have died of dehydration, and by the thirtieth hour they no longer bothered washing themselves.

On the third day they found their first oasis. There birds gathered and nested in gleaming water in an area where the sand dared not breach.

They made certain birds would not return to this place for some time yet.

So bathed and restocked, and now fed, the process began anew. A miserable, ceaseless, sunburnt trudging, where no signal existed to know when it was time to rest except the irresistible urge to pass out—which, when travelling in the eternal sun, was present more or less always.

But something strange happened on the fifth day, as Jason’s complaints that he, “couldn’t take it,” and was, “going to die,” and that he, “hated the guts of the braindead jackass with the sword,” were about to become fatal prophecies for himself—for that was when Rook glanced up at the sun.

The sun that was always directly overhead, as if noon.

It had inched back to the west.

The Sunbarrier was breached.

With every mile it went further and further down. That night, and they could call it night as they made their camp, they felt darkness for the first time. The only light was their fire. They all spent so long laughing that they didn’t fall asleep until the sun rose—

Ninety minutes later. They’d camped at early dawn, it seemed.

Yet somehow, even that was enough to bring joy. The only deflation for their excitement came as they settled down for rest under the still-hot, yet now moving, sun; for that was when they realized they would have to return to this place sooner before later, even though none of them wanted to do anything but run as far from Darom as possible. That dispelled every ounce of happiness and all their senses of salvation.

Rook did consider one positive as he waited for rest to come. At least, he thought, they were all used to sleeping in daylight by now.

The moon felt like nothing, as he remembered. That was how he wanted it. Their journey the next day started at dusk; within two miles they reached the end of the dunes, and like so many other places throughout Esenia there seemed to be an invisible wall erected to demark one biome from the next.

Darom ended. Erimos began.

The land of Erimos was a vast desert, but not the blasted, sun-scorched desert of the Daromese wastes. It was more like Arqa, except less supernatural: in late Autumn it was lush, cool, and beautiful. Green—not white, but verdant green—grew everywhere. Cactuses, saguaros, mountains, hills. It was a place mostly unmolested in the Fall, except for the legendary stone sculptures that littered its plains and valleys, sculptures a mile high which stuck like earthen phalanges from the desert, reaching out toward the heavens. They stood as stacks of stone: some nothing more than pillars, others plateaus for giants, while others still were said to be as complicated and intricate as the great art of the Old Kingdom.

They saw one on their journey to the shore, on the sixth day. It was an arch of sandstone, like the Great Triumphal Arch of Katharos, which stood at such a scale that could hardly be comprehended. Its shadow cast across twenty miles of ground, at least.

“The fallen ring of the Eagle,” Jason said. “It’s a Daromese story. They say their god came to rescue them from the eternal sun, after the Fall, but he was killed by a great elven archer on his way in or something. He tumbled into the river and drowned—and on the way down, he dropped his ring. Talon ring, I guess. Maybe it was an armlet, I can’t remember. Anyway it was buried in the sand, so now only half its band is visible. And…there it is.”

Astera frowned. “The Eagle. They believe their chief god was killed by an elf?”

“Why do you think they worship snakes?”

“Mortals always need something to worship.”

Rook interrupted, “Do you know what that story means?”

“People believe dumb shit?” Jason said.

“No,” Rook said. He was excited—and he smiled. “We’re near the river.”

Portoantos thrived. There were people there from all across the continent. They all spoke Kathar. Night came in every ten or so hours, and each time it was as refreshing as a bath in a cool river. Rook was so ecstatic to be back among people he knew—and he hadn’t been around his own people, not like this, for over two years—that he nearly forget he had neither money nor time to waste.

Ships came and went from the river’s mouth constantly. Securing passage would be no problem.

That brought their attention to the Hepaz. The grandest river in the world. So wide across, looking from Portoantos’ dock, that the water before them seemed to lead out into a vast ocean, or great lake. But it was a river, and it bustled with ships, and it ran with a swift current.

The climate, the season, and the water all combined to make this place seem more like a resort than a shipping town. Rook remembered visiting a place like this with his father as a child. He wanted to stay. Just a week. A little week, no longer.

But there was no time.

They gathered most their remaining funds and bought passage up to Katharos. That was the main destination of most the Hepaz’s sailors. The great human city. Cultural center of all the known world, at least north of the Ganarajyan Sea. An old home. From there they could seek passage farther north—and make the fastest path to Nanos.

Their speed had been good so far. They needed to keep it up.

Although the river was so wide it might have been like sailing the open ocean, the galley they traveled on stuck near the shore and resupplied regularly. Rook lost track of time. The days passed with horrifying speed after so long in Darom. He felt like there was hardly enough time in the day to do anything, and he had nothing to do while trapped in the ship’s hold anyway. He soon realized that keeping track of their progress only served to give him anxiety, though, and was grateful for the calendar’s melting. When he could think about how much time this diversion was taking he thought inevitably about the horrors they left behind. He wondered if anyone was left alive in Arqa, if the Lord’s tendrils hadn’t extended now past the Valley toward Sam’al and the other villages, of what other monsters of the wastes might have been revived to serve in his undead legions.

Nothing about those concerns served him when the speed of the galley slaves’ rowing was out of his control.

At the end of the journey, looking back, he couldn’t recall what he did to busy himself. Maybe his advice to Jason had been more accurate than he intended. Maybe he didn’t do anything except make up for lost rest the whole time.

Make up for lost rest, and avoid Astera—until the docks came into view.

Katharos was a city of black marble. Home to towers of construction impossible by modern means, apartments ten storeys high, sewage systems without rival. Beneath its skyscrapers were layers of sediment from epochs past, the bones of man and civilization alike. In the days of the Old Kingdom this shining jewel of the Esenian crown stretched dozens of miles in every direction. Today even a million souls could hardly occupy the carcass that Old Katharos left behind. Its ruins remained largely empty, buried, and abandoned; adjacent to the city, the still-standing inner walls acted like curtains to separate the Old Districts from the new, and they kept the unoccupied land, still scarred by ruins, out of sight and therefore mind of the people. Yet one could still live his life without ever seeing a night beyond Katharos’ walls and still feel as though he had traveled Esenia a dozen times over. It was a realm unto itself; an empire within a bottle; a kingdom within a nutshell.

A Spire still overlooked the whole of the city. As if anyone could ever forget its pedigree, there was the reminder, right alongside the Archon’s Palace. Its shadow dragged across every block throughout each day as the sun moved across the sky. Even from the grave, Rook thought, looking at that Spire now from the water, the ancients needed to remind all who precisely it was that had the biggest dick.

The port comprised of Oldwalls which stretched into the river’s currents to form a man-made bay with walls of steel and stone as tall as canyons. From far-off its mouth hardly seemed large enough for the vast traffic that swelled through to harbor, but as the distance closed even the hugest ship seemed a toy against the barrier.

It was cool, sunny, winter day. But to Rook the black stone of the whole of Katharos’ construction was reflected back into the skies, and he saw only a city clouded by perpetual shadow and stormclouds.

Jason laughed. They were gathered together on the deck, taking in the view. “I never thought I’d be happy to see this dump again.”

“Do not be too happy,” Astera said, “we cannot stay long.”

He grimaced, to suggest maybe he was thinking about doing just that. “Yeah. Right. Still, it’s nice to be home.”

“It is an impressive place. From a distance it almost rivals Ewsos,” Astera said.

“Yes,” Rook said. His eyes still lingered on the Archon’s Palace. Dark memories played in his mind. “There’s nowhere like Katharos.”

“Where do you intend to stay?” Astera said.

“If I could go wherever I wanted? The White Cat. Unfortunately we’re broke,” Jason said. “There are plenty of inns on the cheap in the Riverside Quarter. We’ll find something. Unless…” Here he looked to Rook, who wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation. “Unless you have someplace for us to stay.”

He saw one last vision of a stone house consumed by flames. Then he turned to his companions. “No. We aren’t staying in the city.”

“We’re not?” Jason was aghast.

“Not more than the time it takes to find a vessel back out of it.”

“…why?”

“Because I hate Katharos. It is a place where dead horses rot on the streets until nothing but bones, where every orphan is a cutpurse, where the night’s watch care more for gold than dwarven bankers, and where honest men are taken to the gallows by perfidious fiends, whose treachery is rewarded not in kind but with the conjuration of new titles by the Archon to celebrate accomplishments mastering the art of intrigue. It’s a particular sport among the nobles here.”

Jason stared at Rook. “Great. I don’t want to see a noble. They don’t want to see me, either. I just want to see a whore who speaks my language.”

“We aren’t staying,” Rook repeated, and his voice carried with it finality. He added, “I doubt if I let you out into the city I’ll ever get you back into a boat.”

“And what if you don’t?”

“Then I’d feel silly I didn’t remind you that you owe me your life for my magnanimous, selfless rescue of you from the arena in Sam’al; and I would be disappointed that you didn’t feel some duty in ameliorating the catastrophe you yourself have unleashed over Darom. By legal right I am fairly certain you are still my slave, as it happens.”

Astera gave a strange look. “Speaking so quickly, you sound like Eris.”

Rook faltered. He realized then he did. It was the spite he felt swelling in the presence of this city. He didn’t like it. He wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“Look,” Jason said after a pause. “You think I don’t feel like shit? Maybe you expect me to say it was all Astera’s fault.” He paused here, considering his words, clearly signaling that he did think it was all Astera’s fault. Eventually he continued with, “Even if it was, I haven’t slept in—weeks, at least. I want to help you set this straight. But what do you want from me, Rook?”

“Some contrition,” Rook said, though he knew it wasn’t a fair response.

“Would tears help, too? Give me a few minutes, I bet I can work them up.”

“You can’t abandon us here.”

“I won’t! I’ll help you however I can! But I’m not a fighter, or a magician, or an elf, or a knight—what do you want me to do?”

“You were happy to adventure with us when the taking was good,” Astera said.

“Just like everyone says, I guess I’m a dumb, greedy asshole,” Jason said. “What good am I going to do hunting Eris with you? What good will I do back in Darom?”

“Translation,” Rook said.

“We’ll find you a new translator. One who can fight.”

“I can teach you to fight.”

“Rook! I’m a scribe! I copy books for a living! I don’t even write them myself—I just take the words and put them onto fresh paper! If you want someone to read Lord Arqa to death, fine, bring me along. But until then—what?”

Rook raised a hand. He was angry, though not surprised, at this attempt by Jason to squirrel away. But now he realized something. His companions must have recognized it across his face, for they frowned curiously.

“Do you have access to the Library?” he said.

Jason hesitated, then shrugged. “I used to—when I was working there, but that was ages ago.”

The Library of Katharos. The most fantastic repository of knowledge in all the world, excluding the spellvaults of the Magisters. There was bound to be something on excising demons there, on the history of Arqa and its lord, on vampiric parasites in general. The perfect opportunity hung before them, and Rook had almost let it pass.

“So be it,” he said. “I release you.”

“What?” Jason said.

“You won’t come with us from here-on. You’ll stay here. And you’ll spend every minute you can afford looking into how we might defeat Lord Arqa. Doing every bit of research you can. If you want to use your own skills, here’s your chance. Astera and I will do the adventuring without you. But you aren’t off the hook. We’ll be back to learn what you’ve learned. And if we don’t come back, because we’re killed like the fools we are within the next few weeks—well, I guess you are off the hook. But at least give us a year before moving on.”

Rook expected some pushback, but in fact Jason immediately nodded in acquiescence. “Okay,” he said. “It’ll take time to get back in, but I can tell them what happened—my capture, I mean—and get my job back. That’ll give me access. And I can try to find out whatever you need to know.”

Thus the plan was set. Later, at dusk, standing on the docks, the two men spoke again while Astera searched for a ship.

“You were joking about that slave thing, right?” Jason said.

“Depends on how cooperative you’re feeling,” Rook said, but this time he was joking.

“I’m a citizen, I can’t be a slave in the city. Nice try, though.”

“You can always be dragged down to Antipalos…”

They both laughed. Staring out at the waves. Watching the orange glow of the sun against the surface. It never got cold in Katharos, especially near the water, but it was winter by then and a chill breeze washed over them.

“You’re never going to find her,” Jason said.

“I’ll find her,” Rook said.

“You won’t, though.”

Rook sighed. “We’d better. Without you in the party, we’ll need her to provide the cynicism.”

“She’s a cynic, huh? I like the sound of her more than ever. Maybe I should come along…I’m just teasing. Seriously, I’m staying here.

…

“You know. I’ve been thinking all week. If you hadn’t signed up for that arena, like a complete fucking maniac, I’d be dead by now. That freak with the scales would’ve fed me to the snake or crucified me. And I fought you every step of the way. I mean—your plan was crazy, but here I am alive, and if it wasn’t for you—I would’ve sat there till my head came off.”

Rook smiled. “If you hadn’t tossed me your dagger, Samdosa would’ve killed me.”

“Well. If you hadn’t stopped her, I was next on the mandible-block. Purely selfish.”

“Selfishness makes the world go around,” Rook said.

“You didn’t have to take me out into that arena. It’s not like I did you any good in the fight.”

“I had higher hopes for you beforehand. You kept Hasdrubal busy, at least.”

Jason laughed. “Let’s just say on balance, you’ve saved my ass a lot more than I’ve saved yours.”

“Find the right books and maybe we can make that even,” Rook said.

“Sounds like a good deal to me. But look…I hope you rot in the aether for dragging me through Darom. You’re a fucking asshole. But. Thanks all the same.”

“You’re welcome.” Rook turned, away from the water, toward the city. “I’d sooner go back to Darom than stay at this place.”

“Memories that bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

“…what happened?”

He frowned. “My father was—” he started, after a long time searching for the right words, when just then Astera returned. “But hold that thought. What news?”

“I found a fisherman,” she said. “He’s going to Ichthyopolis in search of winter business. He’s willing to give us transport for ten drachmae.”

Jason whistled. “Can you afford that?”

“Yes,” Rook said, “but we won’t be able to afford much more after.”

“I doubt we’ll find a better offer,” Astera said. “He boards tonight.”

Rook looked to Jason. “Well, then. We make away for the next part of our search. You won’t get kidnapped again on these streets without my protection, will you?”

“Funny. No, I have friends here, and family. I’ll figure something out.” He sighed. “Good luck, blondie. You’re going to need a lot more than a lioness on your side for this one.”

“Just wait. We’ll be back soon. So you’d best not forget your task.”

“Yeah, yeah. I won’t.” Pyraz barked and swatted at Jason’s leg with a paw. “Kings! I won’t forget, all right?”

The men regarded each other briefly. They gave a nobleman’s hug, a handshake combined with a manly embrace, and finished their goodbyes (with another bark from the dog).

Then Rook was left only in the company of Astera.

“We will move faster without him,” she said.

“Yes,” Rook said. But now there was no one to talk to except Pyraz, and he knew the way forward would only weigh heavier on his mind.

All the more reason to find Eris as quickly as he could.