In the daytime, the desert was a dry, searing hell. The Seventh Seal desperately tried to avoid having to venture out into the dunes themselves, sticking to the desert hardpan whenever possible. Travel was slow, as they followed a meandering trail of solid ground, only occasionally forcing the teams of horses up the sluggish sides of the dunes themselves, especially the teams that pulled the cannons. They only did it when it was absolutely necessary, but to everyone involved, the term “absolutely necessary” seemed to be tossed around alot. They yelled, they screamed profanities, they sweated and heaved, they begged absent gods for ridiculous or offensive punishments be visited on the bodies of their respective file leaders, commander, and captain. Hopefully simultaneously.

Perversely, nights in the desert were cold, nearly frigid. But the air was baked dry, so even as it chilled the skin it still seemed to leech precious moisture from the body.

Still, for a place that was filled with sand, sand, and even more sand, there was a certain aesthetic to it, Daveth mused, as he struggled to the top of a dune. Off in the distance, he could see one of the baffling Wandering Obelisks, lazily drifting north. The guides that had been included in the package deal made by Aldric had mentioned the Wandering Obelisks as a passing fancy, an interesting bit of trivia, local lore handed down.

A Wandering Obelisk was, as its name implied, a thin, four-sided carved stone twenty feet high that tapered and ended in a pyramid point. Except that the stone was crystal, deeply carved with what looked to be comprehensive pictograms and dense lines of text, and the fact that they levitated a foot or so off the ground, travelling in incomprehensible patterns. They powered their way through mundane and mechanical traps with relentless force, and any magic used against them was either absorbed or immediately reflected back at the caster. Since they couldn’t be trapped, stopped, or halted, there was simply no way to study them. They simply were, traversing the deserts of Bel-Arib in incomprehensible, seemingly unpredictable patterns.

Wait. Wasn’t he supposed to be asleep? After the practical joke he’d played on his elven scout Audra, he’d headed off to bed, right? So why was he strolling around? He was a commander now. He didn’t need to take a watch. It wasn’t part of his responsibilities. A moment of confusion flickkered across his brow and cleared when he vaguely remembered climing out of his bedroll for a necessary.

The desert was a mysterious place, nearly dreamlike, especially in the dim hours in the middle of the night. The terrain was constantly changing, dunes that seemed to be effective bulwarks melting and drifting apart like snow, the reliable hardpan disappering as new drifts raised and lowered. It was easy to lose ones' bearings when the very land reshaped itself when you weren't paying attention. Daveth had stumbled around, half-asleep, looking for a latrine pit that no longer existed before simply deciding to climb the nearest dune.

After reaching the crest of the dune, blue-white in the starlight, he ran his eye across the desert, double-checking the speed and direction of the Wandering Obelisk to make sure it wouldn’t tear its way through the camp.

He saw the flicker of what looked to be a campfire on the rippling side of the dune opposite the one he stood on, away from camp. He focused his attention on it. Too small to be an army. Likely a small campfire.

Where did you find wood to burn in a place like this? He considered rousing the Seal, and then discarded the idea. He carefully slid down the side of the dune and when he hit the scree at the bottom of the dune he lunged forward to the next and scrabbled up iron all fours, hoping to catch whomever it was by surprise.

When he reached the top, Daveth froze, overbalanced, and nearly tumbled back the way he came.

A middle-aged man, bald, with runneled scars on his face reclined next to a campfire, a walking stick near to hand. Daveth didn’t have too many fond memories of that walking stick; shortly after Daveth had joined the Seventh seal, this man had beaten discipline into Daveth. Eventually, the monk had parted ways amicably with the Seventh Seal.

The monk had a thick, powerful body, and was roughly as tall as Daveth’s captain, and was dressed in a simple travelling outfit of robes. A pack lay at his side.

“Oh. It’s ....” The monk trailed off, snapping his thick fingers to jog his memory. “Ah. Daveth, isn’t it?” The monk asked, and the giant nodded.

The monk nodded back, comfortably. “It’s been a while. You keep to your training?” the monk asked, and Daveth shrugged. “Sometimes.”

The monk snorted and indifferently flicked his hand at Daveth, scattering sand. “Control is what separates the beast from the man, Daveth. You were half-savage when you joined the Seal, and I had to beat the temper out of you every day for seven months before you learned to use your head. Don’t fall back on bad habits.”

Daveth snorted. “I haven’t. I’m... commander, now.” He replied.

“Is that so?” The monk asked curiously. “Good to hear it. Knew you’d go far, boy.” He sat up, and laid his walking stick across his knees.

“Would you like some advice, Commander Daveth?” The middle-aged man asked curiously.

“Talking’s free.” Daveth retorted, to which the monk finished, “And actions pay.”

“So what’s the advice?” Daveth asked.

The monk hoisted himself to his feet, and moved around the campfire to where Daveth stood. He put his hand on Daveth’s shoulder, and Daveth could feel the strength in those fingers. He’d seen them rip a knight’s shield in half, once. The monk panned his other hand across the horizon of the desert.

“The winds may howl, and the sand scours away any unprotected flesh, but the secret to the desert is silence.” The monk intoned.

“The silence of the desert keeps its own counsel. Long before the Anglish and Azsig-Nothians came to war over this stretch of the barren and lonely, far more ancient peoples made their traffic here, carving strange prancing figures in hidden clefts of buttes and caves. They may have left the world, but they didn’t take their secrets with them. The poetry of the desert is unmoved by the passages of man.”

After a moment, Daveth looked down at the bald monk. “That didn’t sound like advice.”

The monk snorted. “You want something practical.” He scoffed. “Fine, so be it. Here’s your advice: ‘Gifts are not given without something of great value given back’.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Daveth asked, baffled, and the Monk casually tapped his walking stick on Daveth’s boot. “It means, idiot, beware strangers bearing gifts.”

“There you are, Darius.” A woman’s voice made the chilly night air of the desert seem downright pleasant. Her voice was cold and accusatory.

Darious gave Daveth an eyeroll and a twist of his mouth; the look of a man who has been relentlessly pursued, badgered and harassed.

“Odessa.” He greeted the woman without turning around. Darius the Monk cast his eyes up at Daveth, who was eyeing the woman.

“Here’s some advice: Women never forget. Be it a day or thirty thousand years, they never, ever forget.” He whispered at Daveth hoarsely. He turned and beamed at the woman that had appeared at the fireside.

“Odessa.” The man greeted in a much sweeter, kinder voice. “It’s been so long since we last met. How have you been?” He asked.

She gave Darius a complicated look, and her eyes flicked over Darius’ head to eye Daveth.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” She demanded coldly.

Daveth easily understood the obvious demand to leave, but instead stepped into the firelight, and gave a hint of a bow to the woman while filling his eyes.

She was pretty, with blue eyes and black hair that fell in waves down her back, but the obvious anger painting her features drove him back.

“Just need a torch to find my way back.” Daveth replied casually, and picked up one of the branches from the fire, and carefully made his way down the side of the dune.

“Now that was just rude, Odessa.” he could hear Darius say. He couldn’t catch the woman’s response as he made his way back to camp.

Daveth was convinced that the monk’s name wasn’t actually Darius. On every land, on every continent, there were always folklore-stories of Darius Trakker: The Wandering Monk. The tales and adventures stretched back centuries, sometimes thousands of years. It was easy to guess at some point the man had simply assumed the moniker, hoping to grift some food or coin or whatever by adopting the name as his own, but the man certainly wasn’t the folklore hero.

He certainly had all the skills and wisdom of a monk, and was as obnoxiously cryptic as one, but Daveth didn’t once believe that the man that had turned the bestial fourteen year old boy into the Commander of the Seventh Seal was the real Darius Trakker.

Aurene met him on his way to his bedroll.

“Where did you go?” She asked irritably. “It’s my responsibility as your second to make sure you don’t become extinct on my watch.”

“Has that ever happened?” Daveth asked.

“Has what ever happened?” She replied, confused.

“Someone dying under your watch.” He asked curiously, to which she immediately frowned.

“None of them dared wander off.” She accused angrily. “This is potentially hostile territory.”

Daveth nodded. “You’re right, it is.” He agreed.

“Then return to your bedroll.” She insisted.

“I was going to, until you stopped me.” He accused, and then lay down on his bedroll and stared up at the stars.

Aurene seated herself next to his bedroll until she was certain he was asleep, and then stood back up and resumed her watch.

*****

The next day they rode out, a few people chuckling at Audra. She rode up to Daveth, who was taking a small drink from his canteen.

“I suppose you think that scorpion was funny?” She asked.

He smiled. “It really was. But you know what?” He inquired, leaning towards her.

“What?” She asked grumpily, guiding her mount closer with just her knees and leaning closer to him.

“That beautiful scream you let out.” He mentioned, closing his eyes in rapturous bliss. “It was ... amazing.” He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “Well worth slipping into that cave to kill one and drag it back.”

Her face drained of emotion. “You’d do it again?” She asked flatly.

He ostentatiously glanced behind him. “Too far away to do that now, isn’t it?” He inquired innocently. Catching her eye, he hastened to add, “You’re safe from my predations.” he finished, waving his hand dismissively. “You have a habit of teasing and joking at my expense. This was payback.” He glanced at her. “I don’t plan on doing it again unless you give me incentive.”

She sighed. “Thank you for that.” She said, and smiled a little. “It was masterfully done, Commander.” She waved, and allowed her horse to fall back to her original position.

Daveth yawned. He hadn’t slept well, plagued with unpleasant nightmares that he couldn’t quite remember. He rubbed his eyes absently.

“Hey Daveth.” Aldric seemingly appeared from nowhere, and held out a battered cup. “Tea?” He asked. Daveth stared at him stupidly.

“In this heat?” he asked dubiously.

Aldric shrugged. “Surprisingly, it helps you feel cool.” Daveth blinked, sniffed the tea, and took a swallow. “Hmm. Doesn’t seem to work. But it’ll wake me up.”

Aldric nodded. “Should reach the oasis tomorrow if we’re lucky.” He said absently. “We’ll have double sentries out tonight. Rest when you can, because if we’re right about that oasis being held by the Orgus, we’re going to have a fierce fight.” Daveth nodded at this and sipped his tea.

Aldric passed him a rolled up map. Daveth unrolled it carefully.

It detailed the explored regions of Bel-Arib, and the path that the Seventh Seal was to take in order to fulfill their objective. They would travel to several different oases across the continent, make certain they were clear of Orgus, move on to the next, hopscotching from one oasis to another. The Anglish didn’t want them near the Crystal Fields, a spot on the map that appeared to be a long-dried out lakebed, as flat as a plank of wood. Light Crystals grew there, and were routinely harvested by the Anglish. A Light Crystal absorbed ambient magical energy and released it as light when dunked in water or squeezed tightly, thus removing a massive dependence on candles and lanterns. The Anglish wouldn’t take too well to a mercenary army marching on their precious resources.

“Have the Anglish reported anything about the Orgus?” Daveth asked his captain.

“As far as I know, the Anglish aren’t talking. If they are, they haven’t uttered so much as a peep.”

“Hmm. Should we pay them a visit?” Daveth mused.

“They’ll kill us from a mile away. That mining operation is heavily fortified.” Aldric replied immediately.

“You sure?” Daveth asked, and Aldric nodded with certainty.

Aldric was Anglish, and seemed to be privy to some of the Empire’s higher-level dealings, though he hadn’t revealed much to Daveth- or the rest of the Seventh Seal- exactly what his ties were to the Empire. There was plenty of speculation that was rife within the Seal. Some said he was a former admiral, others speculated he was a jilted lover of Elenore Lybeth, the Queen of the Anglish Empire.

Well, Daveth had a few secrets of his own, as likely the rest of the Seventh Seal. He rolled up the map and handed it back to Aldric, who absently tucked the map away and guided his horse back to his files, absentmindedly pulling out his pipe and pouch.

*****

“If you had asked, I would have gone with you last night.” Aurene’s voice nearly caused Daveth to spill his tea.

He glanced over at her. Today her hair was divided into two braids that swung about as she rode.

“Didn’t think of that. Probably could have used your help anyway. That place was crawling with those scorpions.” He shuddered, and then chuckled. “How would you have reacted if I’d done something like that to you?” he asked, a light of merriment in his eyes.

“You would not have survived the experience.” She replied dourly. He laughed at that.

“What sort of disposition do you think we’ll see with the enemy?” She asked, curious.

“If it’s an oasis, then there’ll be plants, trees, hard ground. Some source of water. If it’s been cultivated, there may be plenty of fruit-bearing trees. Maybe animals. If we’re attacked, it’ll be through ambushes, most likely.”

“Cowards.” She spat.

“Smart.” he corrected. “A well-placed ambush will dice us to pieces. Out here, in the middle of the desert, with no supplies but what we bring, no support, no auxiliary troops... it can get pretty nasty.”

“It’s not honorable.” She replied.

“They eat people.” He rebutted. “You think they’ll give a damn about honor when they’d much rather eat your brain from your skull?”

She frowned at him. His voice dropped to a low, silky tone. “You know, I once heard a story about a tribe of mutants in the jungles of Metzcal. They would capture monkeys alive, and bolt them down to a table so that their heads would be at the right height... and then they would cut off the top of the skull so that it could be lifted off, like so.” He made a lifting motion with his hat. “They’d lift off the top of the skull... and then pour in boiling soup, and then eat the brains out alive.” He grinned nastily. Her nose wrinkled in distaste and she frowned.

“What are... monkeys?” She asked.

“They sort of look like us, except they’re about four feet tall or so. They’ve got really long arms and they like to screech a lot. They eat fruit and fling their feces at anything that tries to attack them.” He replied glibly.

“You’re joking with me.” She replied. He shook his head. “I haven’t seen them myself, but I’ve heard of them from people who have- people I trust.”

“Do you think these Orgus would... eat our brains?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I have no idea. But if they really eat people, then it’s possible they’ve come up with some ... novel ideas.”

She glanced around quickly to make sure nobody was listening, and then said in a low voice, “I will not let them eat you.” She struggled with her horse and moved away awkwardly.

Daveth looked surprised for a moment and then smiled to himself. “Yeah. I’ll keep them from eating you, too.”