Chapter One (Assassins and Misfits)

Both figures turned back, gazing at the only city on the horizon, the only mark of humanity or civilization in an otherwise untamed and unappealing desert. A blue sky beat down upon them. Scant cover was offered from the harsh desert sun by barely existent clouds. Their cloaks, tan and bright, shielded them from some of the heat from the merciless sun.

Both of their stares were filled with a certain longing, like that of a child forced to leave behind their favorite toy. Beside them walked three horses. The first of the figures, a beautiful and young girl named Sarah, looked about seventeen years old. Her eyes, a dark almond color, filled with tears of fear and longing. The second figure, a male who looked to be about twenty years old, put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. His eyes, startlingly blue, were filled with no less longing or fear, but no tears would find their way onto his face.

“Are you okay?” Tank, the male, asked. Sarah didn’t reply. She just stared at her birth city.

“We have to go,” Tank said, “You know this.”

Sarah turned back forward, pausing to make eye contact, and nodded. Her eyes moved up and down his body. He smiled, mistaking the gesture. Rather than thinking kindly of him, she silently congratulated herself on convincing him to accompany her. In doing so she studied him once again.

Broad shoulders and powerful muscles marked him as different than other men. But that wasn’t the extent of it. A blacksmith’s son, he’d become strong and tough, but the son of a noble man, noble not by birth but by action, he was a quick and smart young man. And as she left the city of their birth, Keell, she would rather be accompanied by nobody else, for he had learned to survive on his own years before. His parents were dead, for four years now.

“I know,” she said. And the two of them turned from Keell, fleeing a fate that only she truly understood.

As they walked, she studied what had happened to her. The most obvious change was her clothes. She silently regarded them distastefully. The tan robe, designed solely to reflect light from her body and allow her movement, did little to accentuate her curves. The cloak resting on her shoulders was a similar color, this one designed to hide her at long distances and to ward off the heat, actually hid her physical allure. The hat on her head, a wide-brimmed affair that had a tan and brown pattern upon it, brilliantly shielded her from the ravages of the sun. But it also hid her hair, a trait that she fancied about herself, and her distaste for it was hard to disguise.

All in all, her clothing actually made her look worse. The loose fitting clothing hid her body’s real shape, instead giving it the illusion of blubbery thickness. She wasn’t a skinny girl, who depended on a thin waistline and petite shoulders. Rather, she was a voluptuous and broad girl, who had all of her excess weight in the perfect spots to gain the attention of almost any man. And with most of the men she knew, she would have been worried by the look produced by this clothing. But it wasn’t the case with Tank. What confounded her the most about him was his lack of motivation towards her body. He was, to her ultimate confusion, not overtly lusting for her.

“How long do you think it will take us to get there?” Sarah asked after several hours of walking. They were taking a small break, Tank watering the horses and biting into a small cake of nuts and seeds.

“I can’t say,” Tank said. As he did so, he pulled a hammer and a flail from his horse’s saddle bags. He began to go through motions, practicing several sweeping strikes with the flail and a series of swats and smashes with the hammer. The weapons were heavy but he handled them with ease. His arms and shoulders, powerfully built from years on the smithy, seemed only to grow as he maneuvered the weapons.

“What.. what are you doing?” Sarah asked, suddenly nervous. Her experience with weapons was only slightly larger than her experience with the open desert. And that was, to say in a word, none.

“Just going through routine practice. We may run into boozers. And I don’t think we want me to feel rusty when we do so,” Tank said. His voice, deep enough to indicate he was entering his manhood but not so deep that he seemed full grown, was comforting to her. Many a night had she been comforted by his soft speaking. As he moved through his drills, she studied him.

His thighs and legs were thick, muscled, despite his main occupation’s tendency to produce only upper body muscle. She knew that his work with horses and in porting was what allowed him to be so balanced. He wasn’t lopsided on his upper body either. Both shoulders and arms were of equal size. He used his hammer and flail in both equally. She knew that he’d made sure to use both arms in his hammering and other smith-related activities. And while she did not truly understand what all this meant, she knew he did. And that was reassuring.

“You think we will run into a boozer?” Sarah asked and Tank paused and shrugged.

“I don’t know. But if we do, I’d like to be prepared.”

She nodded, “Okay.” He turned to her and they made eye contact. His eyes glowed with a potent emotion that she didn’t understand. And her eyes with pride at getting him to escort her to Sprinkleberry, their target. Her eyes were wider than usual, almost as she looked him up and down. But he didn’t know that what was behind her eyes wasn’t what he felt. Blindly he assumed they felt the same.

She wondered how long they’d be out there again. Just as she was going to ask another question, he replaced his flail and hammer on his horse, leaving them in easily accessible spots. If he was wondering if she felt ready to go or not, he didn’t say so. So she followed as he led her through the desert once again.

Nobody had ever measured the distance between Keell and Sprinkleberry but many had traveled between the two cities. Caught in the middle of a small desert that had once been great grasslands, the two cities alone stood at beacons of civilization. Several dozen smaller villages  managed to survive between them, thriving through means unknown to any but them and with a fairly extensive trade network alike. Only a small number survived the trip if they didn’t find any of the villages.

The villages, the smallest little more than a hundred people and the largest home to several thousand, served as waypoints between the cities. But they rarely went out of their way to help anyone unless there was obvious gain. On the trip, which took most small parties over a month to travel, these villages could make what was an impossible trip for a group of two into a fairly plausible, if not an easy, trip.

The trade between these villages was general done through merchants traveling in groups that were as large as some of the villages. Some men made the trip often and inevitably they learned the ways of the desert just as they learned the ways of the villages. These people, for there were both men and women who served this role, were often paid much by merchants who branched out. But rarely did a merchant make the trip twice, for to travel all the way from one city to the next was a costly, and long, venture. And very, very few merchants made it on their own, for the knowledge of the ‘drifters’, as those who travel between the cities through the villagers, was considered invaluable by those who understood what the drifters knew.

Tank and Sarah, traveling alone, didn’t fully understand the chances they were truly taking. Between them, Tank was the only one with any idea. But even he’d not heard the worst fates of those who traveled throughout the Kingdom Desert. Nobody did.

Sarah looked into the distance, wondering if she would see Sprinkleberry in the distance. She didn’t, though. Her disappointment was there, even if not well founded. She zoned out, trying to think of other things. But the only thing she could bring to mind was why she was leaving Keell in the first place.

“Maybe,” she said, “We can stop soon?”

“We’ll have to,” Tank replied, “The sun goes down quick, especially when you’re thinking.”

“Are you thinking?” Sarah asked.

“Yes.”

“What of?” Tank was quiet.

“I was wondering… why are we leaving Keell?” he asked. He didn’t have the love for it that many did. He found it a repulsive environment, one that squashed creativity and any even vaguely unorthodox thinking. But she had thrived there. She was beautiful, which counted for a lot, and very skilled in the social trials of the city.

“Well..” Sarah thought hard as to whether she could tell him. Finally, she nodded to herself. I can trust him, she thought, “My father dealt in some… less than lawful businesses in the city. And he was very involved in it, which wasn’t his fault. He tried to get out of it but… well, they wouldn’t let him leave.

“So when it was discovered that this was happening, he was framed and forced, either  to give up his accomplices or be executed. So he gave up their names… and they vowed to kill us all. He tried to get my mom and I from the city, tried desperately, but they attacked our house and killed my mother. I barely survived, only through luck. So I came… I came to you.”

Tank shook his head. She came from a rough family. He’d known that they weren’t saints but never imagined that her father, a man that Tank’s father had respected if not liked, had any dealings with the underbelly of Keell.

“Slaves?” he asked and Sarah nodded. He shook his head again. Slavery wasn’t illegal in Keell but it could only be forced upon people who were caught doing illegal acts. But some of the less than ethical merchants in Keell had a method of gaining more free workers than were on the ‘market’.

Children raised as slaves were the best property and her father had taken children from the streets and forced them into slavery. It was illegal in the extreme, as it wasn’t lawful for one to turn convert anyone into a slave until they were thirteen, and any caught doing it were almost taken and immediately executed. Only in rare circumstances did someone get a chance to buy their life as her father did.

The evening did sneak up on them as they trekked forward. Making camp, Tank let Sarah rest. She watched Tank as he efficiently started a fire, using wood carried by the horses, erected a tent and prepared their beds. She would be allowed to sleep for this night. He would take his rest during the day.

As she lay, her eyes long closed in slumber, he silently thanked whatever God or Goddess might be listening for allowing her to pick him. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “For I… I feel blessed at this moment.”

She screamed and his eyes popped open.

“What is it?” He asked, hammer out and at the ready. She threw a scorpion across the tent and screamed again. He smashed it almost immediately then studied it. “That… wasn’t any kind of threat to you,” he said. He chuckled, “It was actually going to help you.”

“How?” Sarah asked, just barely keeping her breath under control.

“Well,” he said, getting closer to her, his eyes fixed on her face so that, for a moment, Sarah thought he might lean and press his lips upon hers. For a moment she was thrilled but not just because of the initial burst of confidence in her control over him. She hoped, for a moment, a deeply emotional scene unfolded in front of her, that she was in the middle of something she had read about as a child. Just as the heat of the moment grew unbearable to her, Sarah only barely able to keep from leaning forward, Tank’s eyes left her, “It was trying to kill this!” His arm flashed just past her and smashed a spider that had been creeping up on her from behind. It was a small brown creature that Tank identified as a Sand Strider, one of the most poisonous breeds in all of the desert, and she screamed again.

Tank, a small grin crossing his face, just shook his head.

“You’ve never been out here, have you?” he asked with a chuckle.

“No,” Sarah said curtly, both stung by the lack of romance and scared of the creatures surrounding her.

“Figured,” Tank said and Sarah scowled slightly. She shook her head in frustration. Maybe he’ll be more receptive if I prove myself useful… the thought was alien to her but it still hit her. She considered it for many minutes and decided she would attempt to show use at the next chance she could.

As Tank laid back down, his thoughts screamed at him in frustration. Why didn’t you try anything? He internally moaned, It’s just a stupid thought anyway.. she’d never have wanted that from me...

The night came quickly and Tank began to work on the tent.

Tank toiled for almost half an hour, obviously unsure of the equipment. Sarah studied him the entire time he worked. He was powerful and wasn’t terrible looking. He was a rugged looking man and he had obviously been through a lot. She could not help but smile a little as he took his shirt off, revealing powerfully built shoulders and chest and a small gut. He was lean everywhere but his stomach, it seemed. She grinned slightly as she considered that he might be stripping for her benefit. She stifled a laugh.

The laugh died quickly, however, because she thought deeper than that. Why was he with her? What could have motivated him to join her? She knew of one thing that might inspire an act such as this and it scared her more than a little. He turned and looked at her and his soft blue eyes met the gaze of her almond brown eyes. They both paused a moment as a thrill of emotion shot throughout her body.

He smiled slightly and she did likewise, sending a similar explosion of sensations throughout Tank. He looked away, suddenly, disturbed and she felt a yearning that hadn’t been there before. She couldn’t deny her sudden insecurities and it troubled her more than a little. As he turned away, she studied him and found herself thinking of him differently, as if he could some how be more than just means of transportation.

No! She thought to herself, shaking her head, You… shouldn’t do this to yourself. Or him. He’s not what you need.

He was still working when it suddenly occurred to her that this was her chance.She sighed, unsure of what she could do, but didn’t give up hope. She waited until he looked at her, until they’d made eye contact, “Can I help?” she asked.

He smiled slightly, “If you can.”

“If I can?” Sarah asked defensively, “What is that supposed to mean?” No, she thought to herself, this isn’t how this is supposed to go...

Tank turned to her with a small smile. There was a certain hardness to his eyes that hadn’t been there before, almost as if he had changed a little just then. She considered it for a moment as he answered.

“It means exactly what it sounds like it means,” he replied.

“You don’t think I can help?” Sarah asked and Tank shrugged. I was supposed to prove myself useful now..

“I dunno,” he said, “I don’t think you’ve ever worked on a tent in your life.”

“So?” Sarah asked, “I could if I wanted to.”

“Look, you don’t ‘do’ things like we do,” he said, “You tell people to do things.”

“What!” Sarah asked, defensively, “Where you do-”

“Don’t get all offended,” Tank said, “I’m not insulting you. Look, it’s just that you grew up with servants all around you, doing everything for you.” She opened her mouth to respond to him but he kept going, “Look, I know it’s hard to keep people in line. I couldn’t do it, except maybe by force of will, and that never lasts. So if we need a manager for something, you’re the one we will send forward to do that.

“But if we need a tent assembled,” he motioned towards the suddenly completed tents, “I’m not so sure you’ll be the one we need on this.”

Sarah, suddenly offended and slightly hurt, shook her head. Not get in a fight with you… she sighed. Suddenly she was hurt by him. She shook her head, frustrated, and angrily thought, You, Tank, are definitely just means of transportation.

They’d been walking for nearly an hour when Sarah finally stopped.

“I must wear different clothes,” she said, looking down at her robe with open disdain. Tank, smiling to himself, figured it wouldn’t do any harm for her to wear what she normally did. It was unlikely her less environment friendly clothes would attract any unwanted attention. It didn’t seem to him that there was any body around to notice it. And she feared that Tank might not be as willing to help her without gaining his attention. Something about the thought seemed wrong to her, as if she were mistaken, but everything she’d ever learned said to show off her curves.

Finding the bag with her excess clothing, a larger sack, he handed it to her and turned around, giving her the privacy any girl would desire. Seeing this, Sarah frowned slightly. She had hoped to use this to further enthrall the stocky warrior. She took as long as possible, even going so far as to cry out at another skorpion in attempt to get him to turn around. But he didn’t even try to steal a glimpse at her, even when she complained about the look of them on her and asked his opinion.

“I’m sure it looks fine on you,” he’d said, “It’s not like anyone is going to see you.” For almost an hour afterwards she pouted, trying to think of ways to inspire passion in him. But her thoughts were in vain. She already had. Finally she relented in her internal scheming, thinking, I guess his respect for me is a good sign.

Sarah rode atop her horse this day as Tank walked, drifting in and out of sleep with each step. She considered offering to switch places with him. But she didn’t want to walk and figured it was unlikely he would switch with her. For whatever reason, he was determined to do anything he could for her and not take any rewards for his service. A simple glimpse at her bosom would have driven many men to action in the past. Unlike them, he did the work and didn’t take a look.

Boredom finally took its toll and Tank only awoke when he nearly tripped.

Shaking his head and pulling out his flail, he vowed not to drift off again. The flail was lighter than his hammer by a decent margin and as such he could hold it for long periods of time without growing tired. The horses, following him out of habit at this point, didn’t need him to hold onto their reins and so he stepped out a bit further ahead and put the flail through several skilled maneuvers.

The flail was a devious weapon in its nature. A pole of meta, about a foot and a half long, served as the handle. The metal, platinum, made the weapon very valuable, as platinum was an almost impossible material to forge and shape and widely considered the strongest metal of their time. A loop on the end of the handle, made of the same metal, served to hold onto a chain that ended in a fair sized metal ball. The chain and ball were of the same material as the rest.

The most valuable item he had, the flail was the chief item he had inherited from his father. For four years he’d trained with it for half an hour in the morning and an hour at night. By this point he could put the weapon through complicated and devious patterns that left most who watched dazzled. The ball jerked forward and backwards, sweeping across his and her field of vision and slamming into the always skilled but eventually failing imaginary foes. More than once Sarah shook her head at his shift from smooth and graceful sweeping attacks to a jerking and explosive swings. She knew that it would be a bad day for whoever stepped up against him in a fight.

But eventually he tired and replaced the flail on his hip. The ball bounced against his leg as he walked but he was used to it, even taking comfort in it. The metal somehow stayed cool on that hot afternoon and only seemed to warm after nearly twelve hours of prolonged exposure to the burning sun.

Chance’s eyes crept upwards to the feet of his master, a broad shouldered and deep voiced man shrouded in darkness. Tempted as he was, he didn’t let his eyes wander any higher. Confident as he was, Chance knew when he was outmatched. And this man in front of him was far more than he seemed.

A Spellsword, Chance used both the dirk and sword on his belt and the arcane arts to combat his foes. So he knew when he encountered magic. And this man stunk of it. The room in which Chance knelt stunk of magic at that moment, as if it were being filled by this man’s aura. It was a known fact that any room that the leader of the Black Hoods entered darkened. And all, in or out of the Black Hoods, knew better than to expect to see his face; the darkness that always covered it was emptier than any shadow. It was a coal-black shade so empty that no sane man would willingly enshroud himself in it.

The Spellsword knew that it was a mutually profitable arrangement, though, even despite his terror of the man. The Black Hoods had given him a relatively safe place to sleep and rest as his powers returned. It was safe in that he couldn’t be found by the law. But his body couldn’t be found either.

The deal was that so long as he gave them a healthy cut of his steal he would be given haven, for what that meant. And the protection from the law, or the law’s eyes at least, was a far more valuable standard of living than the cut of his steal that he gave up. For to be caught was a bad, bad day for any thief. Keell’s laws were harsh… but that only mattered if they caught you.

The leader of the Black Hoods, the Cowl, spoke. His voice was darkness itself and his words as law to any thief, assassin or rogue in the city. “You’ve served well as a free agent. But that will no longer serve the Black Hoods. A promotion is in order.” Chance’s eyes narrowed just as his pulse raised. Promotions were rare but not unheard of, a mysterious process for anyone not directly involved. Their consequences were equally mysterious. More than one ‘promoted’ thief disappeared for days, weeks, months or even years at a time.

“If you are successful in a simple task assigned, you will receive knowledge and power you can hardly comprehend. You will see what we have planned. You will see why Keell, not our sister city Sprinkleberry, will meet the mas-” the Cowl paused, a grin growing on his face. None in the room could see the grin but they all felt it, a sickly burn in their stomach. “The plans will be made clear to you. And power will be yours.

“You will hunt down and kill Sarah Findella,” the Cowl ordered, “You will make her suffer before you do so. Then you will come back here and receive what you have earned. It may take time, to exact our vengeance successfully, but you can afford that time. When her pain will be at its greatest, then you will strike. Stand.” The Spellsword complied and stood, looking down still. “Look up,” the Cowl ordered. Chance’s eyes widened and he felt his entire body tense up. His hands itched to flash to his blades. Something in this burned at him, assaulting his sensibilities.

Reluctantly, he looked upwards, his eyes settling on the void that was the Cowl’s face.

“You will not fail me in this,” the Cowl said. “I expect you’ll be back here, with news of her death. Or yours. Begone.”

Chance turned and fought not to flee the room outright.

As soon as he left the room, Barker, the Cowl’s lowest level lieutenant, halted him.

“He has commanded that you receive any resources you deem necessary and proper. If you are to buy something beyond your ordinary scope, you are to give them one of these. And, if you’ve any brains at all in there, write down the amount we owe,” Barker said. The man’s left eye twitched as he spoke, the jet black iris and pupil looking into the distance as he spoke. And even though his right eye looked directly at Chance, it seemed to see through him, as if he were worth nothing more than a passing glance.

“Spare no expense. It will matter little in the end…” Barker grinned, “But if you’re to receive the reward, I’ve a bit of advice: Make sure it’s you that does it, not our gold.”

Chance nodded, his hands falling to the hilts of his blades. He was confident he could find this girl easily.

Tank wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked off into the horizon. He still couldn’t see any indication of civilization in front of them. And Keell was too far behind them for the signs of life to still be seen.

Some worry slipping into his expression, he carefully checked their stores. They’d be good for another few days. But if they weren’t able to find Sprinkleberry soon… he let the thought leave his mind. There was no changing course now. He didn’t know where the villages were, for few had the knowledge, and even fewer the desire, to explain exactly where the villages were. It was obvious to Tank at that moment he and Sarah had passed them by.

Reluctantly he sighed, “I hope we make it through this,” he muttered. Sarah rose an eyebrow in curiosuly.

“What is it?”

A low buzz filled the air. Sarah, sitting upon Tank’s horse, ignored it. Tank, walking beside her own tired mount, looked around nervously. His eyes, searching the horizon, were still narrow even as he looked. Sand, lifted by the wind, made it impossible for wide eyes.

Sarah stared off in deep thought and so didn’t notice his worried gaze.

Finally, Tank said, “I think you should get off your horse.”

“And walk?” Sarah groaned.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There’s a boozer around,” Tank said, “And they always go for the highest targets first.”

“I don’t see any,” Sarah protested, “And my feet hurt.”

“I’m telling you,” Tank said, “It’s dangerous. Don’t you hear it?”

“Hear it?” Sarah asked skeptically.

“Yeah. That low buzz,” Tank said, “You don’t hear it?”

Sarah listened for a few seconds, then just shook her head, “Let’s just go back to being quiet, maybe?”

Tank just grinned at her stubbornness and turned forward again. And Sarah, sitting upon her horse, just raised an eyebrow at his lack of argument. She didn’t get off her horse but silently she wondered at the wisdom of staying up. Then, acting as she always did when she didn’t have a concrete answer, she did exactly what she felt like doing.

She was still riding when Tank let his hammer slip into his hand. Sarah noticed it and studied him for a moment. His shoulders tensed and she cocked her head in curiousity. Then, without any warning, he whipped about and launched his hammer at her. He was attacking her!

“What!” She cried out in shock as the hammer flew past her head. She screamed when she felt liquid splatter on her back and she turned around to see a broken form hit the ground. It was a boozer.

Boozers,  half-demon, half-insect hybrid, had been attacking people in the Kingdom Desert, which was what the area around Keell and Sprinkleberry was called. Resembling giant mosquitos, the heritage of their insect ancestors, the boozers had an exoskeleton and two large, scaled wings. Their three pole-like mouths, called proboscis, resembled that of a mosquito and could suck a human dry in a few minutes.

A single boozer on its own wasn’t too much a problem. But they generally didn’t travel on their own. They generally traveled in hordes that could overwhelm a group of trained and armed soldiers through sheer numbers. But only those who lived outside of the city knew these things.

“Oh,” Sarah said softly, “I didn’t… see…”

“It’s fine,” Tank said. “We just need to be careful. There might be more.”

“How did you know it was there?” Sarah asked.

“I heard it,” Tank answered, “Didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Oh… well, we should get a move on.”

“Okay,” Sarah said. Then, suddenly, the low buzz was suddenly loud enough that both of them could hear it. And it wasn’t because the low buzz became high pitched. A flock, around two dozen, burst out of the sand. The boozers closed in on Tank and Sarah. But, through no fault of their own, they weren’t immediately devoured.

Their horses, fueled by an instinctual fear, took off in full sprint. Through luck more than anything else, Tank managed to get atop his horse. And the three steeds rushed at full speed, all at around the same speed. The boozers, unwilling to directly attack a target, moved in and out of the fleeing three, trying to prick any of the five targets with their venom. A single drop of it could numb a human arm. A few drops could paralyze that limb. Any more than a few drops might stop the target’s heart.

One of the horses, the one holding their supplies, cried out in agony as a boozer proboscis dug into its rear. The other two horses, sensing their kins death, only lengthened their stride. Instinctually they knew that they couldn’t do anything for their fallen kin.

The entire flock consumed the horse in a few seconds, giving the horses time to put more ground between themselves and certain death. But the small horde of boozers turned their attentions back onto the fleeing subjects as the liquids in the fallen horse were all consumed. As they sprinted, the horses’ noses foamed slightly and their nostrils flared.

Quietly Tank whispered encouragement into his horse’s ear. But both steeds were growing tired and, despite their resolve, were slowing. The boozers were only a few feet behind the fleeing forms when suddenly the air filled with projectiles. A dust cloud, formed by the hooves of a score of horse units, filled the air and confused the boozers.

Within moments a frenzied combat broke out. It didn’t take long for the one sided battle to be determined. The boozers, stunned by the ambush, were quickly destroyed.

Tank and Sarah lay on their backs, their entire bodies exhausted. Their horses were being taken care of by their saviors. The two had been checked for wounds, then left alone to recover on their own. The leader of the horse units had given them a skin filled with a primitive beer that did well to sustain those who drank it.

The drink, called Builder’s Beer, gave energy for hours of work and hydrated the drinker. It was the main beverage used by those who were in the Sprinkleberrian military. And because of the easy manner in which it was made, those who were sent out on patrol often went out with more than enough of it.

Finally, when Tank stood up and Sarah pulled herself into a sitting position, a man walked over. Tank studied him.  Ebon skinned and muscular, it was obvious this man was a descendant of the desert fighters, renowned riders of the Desert Hornet.

At some point in the history of the Kingdom Desert, though how long few knew, Sprinkleberry and Keell were built with a group of other cities that made up a fair sized Kingdom. It was the only other nation upon this land aside from the Confederation to the west. But, after a conflict that nobody seemed to know of, the forests  and  grasslands that the Kingdom was built upon died out and were replaced by the harsh desert. Some of those that lived there refused to leave.

Before that time, though, the Hornets had control over the lands. Some major changes were made and what had been a tribe of warriors and wizards of mystic power in these forests and grasslands were made into the most able desert survivors. But, after several wars between Keell and Sprinkleberry and the tribes, the Hornets assimilated into the cities, though mainly into Sprinkleberry.

“Hello,” the man said, “My name is Nigel.” A woman, thick and powerfully built, stood to his side. She was of a similar descent.

“Tank.”

“Sarah.”

“I hope you’re aware of how lucky you are,” Nigel said, “My men and I weren’t meant to be in this land for much longer. We Hornet-Lancers were due back to Sprinkleberry last night. It is only because we noticed some clouds of dust that we remained. Can we safely assume these clouds were yours?”

“Yes,” Tank said, “You can.”

“Why are you out here?” Nigel asked.

“We seek refuge at Sprinkleberry. Keell has become too crowded,” Tank said. That was their agreed upon story. Few people made the journey needlessly.

“Is she yours?” Nigel asked, “For if she is, acquaint her with freedom. Slaves have no place at Sprinkleberry, even if the Keellians take our kin for slaves.”

“She is free,” Tank said, “If anything, I serve her.”

“Ah,” Nigel said, his eyes studying the two for a moment. He and Sarah made eye contact, maintained it for a moment, then she looked away. “Well,” he said, “You are lucky to’ve been found by us. Boozers can fly for hours and your horses are fatigued.”

“Thank you,” Tank said, “You’re with the Hornet Lancers?”

“With?” the woman grinned and her teeth were a brilliant white against her dark skin, “He is the commander of them.”

“Oh,” Tank said, “Well.. It is nice to meet you. I didn’t realize you went out on patrols.”

“We of Sprinkleberry put stock in leaders who lead soldiers rather than boss them,” Nigel said, “And it is our honor, you are smart to have sought out Sprinkleberry.. I hope that more are as wise as you.”

“Wise?” Sarah asked, “We almost got killed.”

“True,” Nigel agreed, “but you had the sense to realize how lucky you are. Or he does, at least. I truly doubt that you’re stupid, though. I see cunning behind your eyes.”

Sarah looked away, “Well,” she said, “okay.”

“We must move on with our patrol, as we cannot truly rely on your statement. There may be Keellians out there,” Nigel said, “And we must check.”

“Are you… afraid of them?” Tank asked, “Keell has been peaceful.”

“So says the troop movements, reinforcement of forts and forging of weapons of war. Maybe we will be proven wrong, hopefully even, but I fear that war approaches. You would do well to remain inconspicuous. You may be pegged for spies.” The Commander of the Hornet Lancers just smiled, “Though I doubt you are. You seem honest.”

“Not smart enough,” the woman said with a grin, “They’d get caught in a day. Oh, and my name is Lauren.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tank said. Sarah repeated hers more slowly.

Lauren grinned, “Oh, the same to you, my friends. Now, you’ll want to go in that direction for about a day,” she pointed to their left rather than straight in front of them, “Then you will come upon Geniunt, the closest village to us. You’ve passed several already… which I doubt was by design.”

“Oh,” Tank said, blushing slightly.

“It is easy to get lost in the desert,” Nigel said. “Come, make camp with us. Then in the morning we will go our separate ways.”

Sarah sighed.

Her bottom hurt. And her horse was tired. And her hair was messy. And her eyes were gritty. And her mouth filled with sand. And her lips chapped. And everything else seemed just as disturbed.

“Why don’t we get some of your horses?” she asked and Ryan, the Hornet Lancer they’d slept in tent with, smiled.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Ryan said with a small smile that faded quickly, “Hornet Lancers can’t just join or leave.”

“What’s that got to do with horses?” Sarah asked, annoyed, and Ryan smiled again.

“Hornet Lancers are part of a team. Mount and Rider, together. We cannot part, for to do so will break the bond that allows us to be as effective as we are,” Ryan explained, “To become a Hornet Lancer you must start very young, and work up. That is why whenever a group falls in battle it is severely missed. For not only has a powerful force been removed from the field, but a process that takes upwards of ten years must begin to replace them then. And, in truth, we are an emotional lot. We don’t like to lose our brothers and sisters in battle.”

He smiled with the last, as if making a joke. Sarah and Tank just nodded slightly. It was true that Hornet Lancers were missed on the battle field. It was generally agreed throughout the entire Kingdom Desert that they were the most effective mounted force in the history of the cities and land in general. Able to serve as scouts, heavy cavalry, messengers, mobile archers or just as means of transporting heavy goods, the Hornet Lancers were able warriors and a solid force.  In the few times that skirmishes had broken out between Keellians and Sprinkleberrians, it was the arrival of two specific units that turned the battles in favor of Sprinkleberry. For even though the average Keellian soldier was generally more lethal and effective than his or her counterpart at Sprinkleberry, the latter had two special units that could destroy nearly any force they were up against. The Hornet Lancers were one of those two special units.

“It is very different from our brothers in combat, the Nose Breakers,” Ryan said, “They can start whenever. Maybe they have a higher washout rate than we do, but that is because the number of people trying to join them is higher. And no, it’s not easy to get into the Nose Breakers by any means, it is a shorter process than we Hornet Lancers endure.”

“Nose Breakers?” Sarah asked distastefully.

“Our counterpart of your Bulls,” Ryan said. The Keellian Bulls were a special unit of Keellian warriors that were considered the elites of the Keellian military. Only a few soldiers were allowed in every year and an equal number washed out, no longer strong enough, fast enough or skilled enough to fight with their peers. These footsoldiers had proven themselves to be the back bone of the Keellian forces many a time. The Sprinkleberrian Nose Breakers were a similar type of unit, if more rugged than their Keellian opposition.

Ryan quietly explained their comparison to the Bulls. A larger unit, they didn’t kick people out of their service, and as such they were less skilled to a man. But despite their lower average skill, the Nose Breakers had matched or defeated the Bulls nearly every time. The Sprinkleberry force had its fair share of truly lethal warriors and their less skilled peers were trained to work in concert with these superior warriors and one another. The Keellian Bulls might be more lethal to a man but the Sprinkleberrian Nose Breakers were just as well trained and more numerous. The only other major difference was the method of training.

Another main difference, Ryan explained, was that Bulls were tight lipped, angry and seemed to an enemy like the same soldier cloned five hundred and fifty times. Their formations and group moves were flawless and their combat was almost identical to a man. In contrast, the Nose Breakers were individuals, a combined force of separate identities that used their judgment to make calls. Their attacks were predictable only to those who knew the individual leaders well and as such their coordinated attacks seemed mildly chaotic.

“How interesting,” Sarah said dryly while Tank nodded vigorously. Everyone in Keell knew of the Nose Breakers, or at least every boy, and wanted to see a Keellian Bull meet one of them in a battle. It was always rumored that while every Bull could kill a Nose Breaker in a head to head fight, one in ten Nose Breakers would be able to slay five Bulls before finally they were overwhelmed.

Nigel gave the order for the Hornet Lancers to stack up and Tank nodded to Sarah, “We should leave.” He walked over to Nigel, who nodded to him. “Thank you for the supplies and for directions.”

“It is no loss to us and plenty of gain to you,” Nigel said, “Be safe. And avoid remaining in the villages for long.” He handed a small piece of parchment to Tank, “this will let you in for some time, for they respect Hornet-Lancers, but we’re closer to Keell than we are to Sprinkleberry and it is unlikely they will appreciate strangers at this time. You’ll have to stop either way, though, for you’ve still three and a half weeks of travel ahead of you and even our stores don’t last that long.

“But be wary. These are times of strife and we all fear war is coming. You’d be smart to go to Sprinkleberry as quickly as possible and to establish yourself with many friends once you are there. I cannot promise to keep worriers from getting at you, for I can’t vouch for you from a simple conversation, but in Sprinkleberry if three people of respect vouch for you, you’ll be fairly safe from harm.”

“Ah,” Tank said as if this meant a lot to him. But he, a nineteen year old lad, couldn’t truly understand what Nigel meant. Seeing this, Nigel just shrugged, “Just be brief in the villages and sincere at Sprinkleberry,” the Hornet Lancer ordered.

“Aye aye,” Tank said.