A fire crackled, sending smoke up into the night sky. For the first time in a long while, Argrave sat before a man-made campfire instead of one born of magic. The flame was contained in a bowl of some sort that seemed to be resistant to heat and kept aflame by chopped logs. Above it, goat meat sizzled, dripping fatty grease into the fire which would let out a cascade of sparks.

Argrave and Anneliese sat near, each using the campfire to read. Galamon had his back turned to the flame, watching out into the fading light of dusk. His helmet was off, disguising Garm from sight atop Galamon’s backpack. Across from them sat Titus, the leader of the merchant caravan.

Titus was taller than most, just shy of Anneliese’s height, and had a body clearly adjusted to physical labor. He had golden eyes and dark skin, marking him as a former tribal. Argrave found that, in the three days they had been journeying, he wore only extravagant red and gold clothing. He displayed the mark of Fellhorn, leaving the blue cross on his backhand exposed.

“That should be sufficient,” Titus narrated as he leaned forward, gingerly seizing the skewered meat’s stake. He lifted it up, taking it off the flame.

Anneliese shut her book eagerly, placing it inside her bag. Argrave took his time, watching Titus set things up.

Titus reached off the side and retrieved four thin yet wide purple leaves. “These are the leaves of a Bitterbite. It is said if one eats too many, they will lose their taste—yet I have had thousands, and they do nothing. Worry not, gentlemen, madam,” Titus spoke smoothly.

“Just call us by name,” Argrave held his hand out. “The term might apply to me, but Galamon definitely isn’t gentle.”

“I would not dare show disrespect to one who dined with Mistress Tatia,” Titus quickly refuted at once.

Argrave didn’t press the issue further.

Titus wrapped the goat meat in the leaf, and then slowly pulled it free of the skewer. “The leaf of a Bitterbite has tangy juices that go well with the spice. Please, gentlemen, madam—enjoy the first bite.” He held out the leaf-wrapped meat, and Argrave touched Anneliese’s elbow, gesturing for her to take it.

She took it, holding it in hand but waiting to take a bite. Titus diligently wrapped another piece of meat, offering it to Argrave. Argrave took it, refraining as well.

“The gentleman Galamon?” Titus questioned.

“He has his strange ways of eating,” Argrave interrupted. “He packs his own food and throws a tantrum if he cannot eat it his way. Don’t mind him.”

“Ah… certainly.” Titus nodded. He bit into his wrapped meat, and only once he had chewed and swallowed did Anneliese and Argrave do so, as well. Argrave knew the leaf itself was not hazardous, but some caution was warranted with a stranger.

The leaf added a flavor reminiscent of lime to the meat, though it was much fainter than the fruit might’ve been. Anneliese seemed to enjoy it. Argrave didn’t find it terrible, but frankly he’d rather just eat the meat as it was. That said, Titus’ skills were impressive. The Burnt Desert certainly had cuisine far beyond that of Vasquer, at least in Argrave’s opinion.

“On the morrow…” Titus looked out across the dunes of sand. “I suspect we will reach Malgeridum by this time.”

“The mining city?” Argrave questioned. “That’s good. Fast progress. Hopefully we aren’t blocked by another sandstorm.”

“The gentleman knows the city,” Titus noted, minutely surprised.

“Yeah. Prime example of Fellhorn’s infinite generosity,” Argrave said sarcastically.

Titus said nothing, staring into the fire. Argrave and Anneliese ate in silence

“You were a tribal once, right?” Argrave questioned.

“Yes,” Titus confirmed.

“Now you’re working underneath Mistress Tatia as a merchant,” Argrave followed up.

Titus nodded in confirmation this time.

“Your life before, your life now—which would you want to go back to?”

Titus laughed. “The gentleman asks me to choose between starvation and servitude.” He looked up at Argrave, his golden eyes reflecting the fire well. “I was born when our tribe was already dead. The tales my elders spoke of—glorious battle against the men of Vasquer, where strength ruled the desert, where we toppled great beasts and rode wyverns across the sandy skies… they were ever just tales, to me.”

“So you like it underneath the Vessels?” Argrave questioned.

Titus grabbed an iron rod and shifted one of the logs aside, staring at the crackling flame. “I know suffering with an empty stomach, and I know life underneath Fellhorn’s eternal rain. They are different in many ways, similar in some.” He stabbed the iron rod back in the sand. “In both, you grow used to loss.”

“Death?” Anneliese pressed, moving closer to the fire.

“Yes,” Titus nodded. “Random death. Outside the walls, tragedy can strike at any moment—rotting from within, succumbing to that without. The Burnt Desert is not an easy place to live. Yet within the walls…” Titus rubbed his hands together near the fire. “The Vessels need to Drain to grow in power, be it from the people or from the world. They constantly hunger for their people to infract, hoping to grow their Vessel with our lifeblood. Some are no different from the accursed bloodsuckers that prowl the night, pressing and pushing the people until a mistake is made. It is a hunt of a different kind.”

Argrave’s gaze briefly flitted to Galamon when ‘accursed bloodsuckers’ were mentioned, but he had tact enough to not let his eyes linger long.

“The only way to ensure your continued existence is to make yourself valuable.” Titus held out his hand.

“And the Vessels of Fellhorn—how are they made?” Anneliese inquired curiously.

“Some babies are taken at birth.” Titus rubbed his hands together. “It is rarely a welcome thing, and so most resist. It usually ends in the family’s death, especially if they were once tribal.”

“Torchlight,” interrupted Galamon loudly. “In the distance.”

Titus came to attention, standing and walking to where Galamon sat. He kneeled, looking out into the horizon.

After a time, Titus said, “I see them. The gentleman has excellent eyesight. My compliments.”

“Looks like they’re heading towards something… a spring in the rocks,” Galamon noted. “Tribals, probably. They have buckets.”

“Spring in the rocks?” Argrave asked, also standing and watching. He could see nothing for a time, until he caught a faintly flickering light in the far distance.

“Mmm,” Galamon confirmed with a grunt.

“Is it a perfect circle of small stones? Is there one big rock jutting up in the back?”

Galamon moved his head around, scanning. Eventually, he nodded. “Seems so.”

“Maybe I’m wrong, but that’s no oasis. It’s a Brandback.”

Titus did not turn his head away as he complimented, “The gentleman has a deep knowledge of the desert. I am consistently surprised.”

“Brandback?” Anneliese asked.

“Big lizard thing. It burrows into the sand backwards, opens its mouth a little, and lets its saliva pool. When something steps near to drink, it opens its mouth fully and swallows them whole.” Argrave scratched his cheek. “Those people are probably done for if they’re going for it.”

“They know it is there,” Titus stated. “The Brandback.”

“What?” Argrave questioned. “What makes you say that?”

“These people have decided to choose death before enslavement,” Titus concluded simply.

“But how can you…?”

“No men of a tribe would not know of a Brandback.” Titus watched passively.

In the far distance, a burst of black sand exploded into the air like a geyser. Once the sand cleared, a thick, fat lizard creature plopped onto the sand, its entire body covered in black, rock-like bumps. It threw its head with its throat swelled like a pelican, something clearly stuck in there. After a time, it settled, its reptilian head glancing from place to place. It slunk off into the distance, using the last light of dusk to find its path.

“One escaped,” Galamon noted. “His bucket is full… yet he isn’t drinking it.”

“He will return to his tribe,” Titus stood from where he knelt. “The hunter may only eat when he delivers his prize before the tribe.”

“Saliva? Some prize…” Garm spoke, causing Argrave’s uneasiness to rise.

“Hmm?” Titus looked back.

“I said, ‘that’s some prize,” Argrave quickly covered.

“Only they can know their triumph,” Titus looked back out.

#####

“Elias is coming here, is he?” Induen smiled. “With his pretty betrothed?”

“Ridia of Jast is not coming, my prince,” the royal knight shook his head.

“A shame. Truly a shame,” Induen said, though his joy was not dampened.

“Will we…?”

“Try and kill them? Capture them?” Induen finished. “Of course not. Why would we do that? All the beautiful work we’ve been doing here would be ruined. Duke Marauch’s reputation is the worst it has ever been. An incident like that might evoke some pity for the fat pig and his whore wife.”

The royal knight seemed a little relieved.

“Severin.” Induen continued, walking across their inn room to another knight. “From what you tell me, two people are spearheading the people in protest of Duke Marauch, no?”

“…yes, my prince,” the knight answered uneasily. “A local priest of Gael, god of justice, and a prominent merchant who was badly affected by the malfeasance we unearthed.”

“That’s good. Two will be better,” the prince smiled broadly. “Here’s what you two are to do. I wish for all of you to find a knight within Duke Marauch’s retinue with a similar build to your own. If no such person exists, make do,” Induen waved his hand. “We’ll have them killed, impersonated by you on another day. Surely royal knights will have no trouble with this.”

“And then, my prince?” Severin asked cautiously.

“The day Elias arrives, and he’s led into Duke Marauch’s castle…” Induen held his hand out and clenched it tight. “…all of you will seize the two dissidents: the priest of Gael, and that merchant. Publicly execute them. Make sure that it’s as brutal and unjust as possible.”

The royal knights had not expected things to take this turn.

“I learned something at Dirracha,” Induen mused, turning around and walking to the window. “The people can be a force greater than the nobles, if angered. The people love the Margrave. And their love… I’ll take it from them. It should belong to me, but it doesn’t. Not yet, anyway.” He held his hand to the window. “All love a hero. My enemy is Parbon, with their centuries-old reputation of honor and justice. I’ll take everything from them—material, immaterial, it matters none.”

“That situation will be… dangerous for us, my prince. Even for you. It will surely cause chaos,” one knight warned.

Induen turned and stalked over to the one who had spoken. “Have you gained no courage? We, alone, stormed a castle and killed its lord. And we, alone, will do this.” He tapped the knight’s chest piece. “If a spindly bastard can flip the Duke against me, I can undo that just as easily.”

He stepped away, walking about as though to calm himself. He paused and glanced at Severin. “And what news have you on that front, Severin? What has my sister promised to do regarding the bastard?”

Severin looked as though he loathed to speak, but eventually, he disclosed quietly, “…the princess said that he was last seen at Ritmont and has no news on that front.”

Induen pursed his lips, and then shook his head in dismissal. “Fine. Inform me of anything new. For now, we will continue to sow dissent while we wait for Elias. Perhaps the Margrave’s son will die. That would certainly be interesting.”