Nicos stared into the distance, at the approaching cloud of sand. It was the second morning since he had left the Naru, and set out for Bastion. He had not expected to encounter any of the other desert tribes, yet here he was, watching what had to be a large group of people approaching.

The boy wasn't nervous. The Naru had proven that the desert tribes were, while not harmless, at the very least, friendly. They had claimed that this culture was shared among their nomadic cousins, and Nicos believed them. They had not lied to him yet, so he tamped down on his unease, and waited.

He doubted he could outrun the desert dwellers, even if he wanted to. Though his sand-skating had improved through sheer necessity, he was still nowhere near the mastery that even the Naru children had reached. Their ability to travel through the desert, both speedily and stealthily, was unmatched.

Something about that thought twigged as off, to the boy. Some deeper instinct, that sent trills of alarm through his spine. He rolled the thought around in his mind, examining it from every angle, trying to discern what was wrong. He matched it to the scene before him, searching for discrepancies.

The sand cloud drifted higher and higher. They weren't far, now. The rolling dunes obscured the tribe members, but the result of their passing was plain to see.

The boy blinked, as the tingling in his spine raced outwards. His hand gripped around his sword, drawing it smoothly. He settled his stance, casting the Memory of solid ground down into the sand.

He realized, now, what was wrong, and as the cause of the sand cloud crested the next dune, his worries were confirmed.

The Naru did not leave trails, so to speak. Their movement did not disturb the desert. The only sign of their passing were the animals they kept, and what little evidence was left on Memory. The desert tribes would not have allowed such an obvious indication of their travel. The people that were coming, were Outsiders.

They came by the dozens, a massive caravan. Nicos could make out several large wagons, pulled by lizard-like creatures, with escorts trawling along, mounted on the same. Of the many strangers he saw, only a bare handful were skating on the sand. Those few were easily able to keep up with their mounted companions.

They weren't quite travelling on a collision course with Nicos, but as they came in sight of each other, a group of riders peeled off in his direction. Their mounts, scaled monitors as large as a horse, scurried across the surface of the desert, kicking up huge gouts of sand. Each of the five strangers wore armor, some leather, and some of gleaming chain, covered by light cloaks. Rolled up nets and rattling chains hung off their saddles, and, as they approached, Nicos noted a pair of them reaching for the restraints. Two others pulled spears, and another, a long, wickedly curved sword.

The distance between them was crossed in less than a minute. They boy waited, patiently, his sword drawn and his face cold. The strangers' intentions were plain as day; it seemed that the Naru's warnings had been well placed. No words were exchanged as they closed, no warnings nor questions, nor hint of hesitation.

Only violence.

The evertree blade sang in his hands as Nicos parried a thrown spear. The toss had been aimed at his legs, aimed to wound and cripple, not kill. They clearly intended to capture him, but he did not share his enemy's handicap. He paused only long enough to brush a hand over the spear—recently purchased, never used, only the barest Memory of its wielder—before dashing directly towards the closest rider. He must have cleared the distance far faster than his enemies had expected, as the front rider's eyes widened in alarm. The man shouted something, pulling hard on his reigns, and his mount attempted to turn. Great plumes of dust billowed outward, as the creature fought to decelerate.

Nicos had no such issue. He cast solidity into the sand, giving him the grip necessary to outmaneuver his opponent. The enormous lizard snapped its jaws at him, but its long, gangly limbs did not allow for sharp turns. Nicos skirted around its side, dodging sharp teeth and a flailing claw, and came up beside the rider. The armored man swiped down with his sword, and Nicos caught it with his own. The blades clashed and—connection—parted, as the lizard's momentum carried its rider to safety, kicking up even more sand as it spun to a stop.

Memory whispered a tale to Nicos, as he immediately launched himself after the stumbling creature. The enemy swordsman was moderately skilled when at his best, but was clearly used to dealing with less dangerous foes. The man was off-balance, struggling to control his mount, and surrounded by a dust cloud too thick to pierce with vision alone.

Nicos sprinted low to the ground, allowing his hand to trail along the sand. He read the Memory of each grain, one connecting to another connecting to another, all leading towards the obscuring cloud. Where vision failed, Memory picked up the slack. Nicos could feel the ripples that the lizard's actions caused. He could feel the tiny vibrations, earthquakes to each grain, as they echoed through the ground. He leapt into the cloud, sword bared.

The rider was caught entirely off guard, as Nicos crashed into him. The boy's blade impaled the man through the chest, and Nicos wrenched it up and out. Blood sprayed across the desert sand and misted into the air. Beige was painted crimson, and the rider sagged in his seat. The creature, perhaps sensing the death of its master, panicked, and stampeded back towards safety.

Nicos allowed it, hanging on to the creature's side as it emerged from the cloud, before throwing himself in the direction of another enemy. His mind was steel, sharp and focused. The blood on his hands could be pondered later. Now was the time to move or die. His feet his the ground at speed, and he cast the Memory of his many downhill slides, into the sand. He skipped across the surface like a hurled stone, barely keeping his balance, as he collided with his next target.

The stranger carried a throwing-net, and little else. He seemed young, maybe a season or two older than Nicos, but not nearly as prepared for combat. It cost the lad, permanently, when Nicos took his leg off at the knee. The older boy fell, screaming at the top of his lungs, and was trampled beneath the legs of his own mount.

Nicos barely managed to shift the focus of his Memory, casting solidity back into the sand, in time to dodge away from the uncontrolled creature. He was forced to block its whip-like tail as it passed, and the impact knocked him clear off his feet. Fortunately, he had, by now, extensive experience in tumbling and falling across the sand, and righted himself in moments.

Just in time to face the charge of another opponent. The overgrown lizard blitzed towards him from his blind spot, urged on by its rider. A whisper of Memory, read from the sand, had the boy turning to meet the creature mid-stride. He brought his blade up. fending off its biting jaws, and the rider's thrusting spear, but could not avoid the monstrous mount entirely. It crashed into him, driving him into the dirt, but his blade's edge bit into its underbelly as it passed.

The creature keened as he gutted it, and twisted away. The rider was thrown free, as his reptilian mount collapsed in a heap. Nicos clambered wearily to his feet, bruised but otherwise uninjured. He staggered over to his groaning opponent, and thrust his sword through the man's chest.

He stood, wiping off the blade panting heavily. The desert was quiet. Nicos could see the last two riders, retreating in the distance. They returned to the now distant caravan, pulling next to one of the wagons and shouting something to whoever was within. Nicos took a few moments to catch his breath, falling into his training meditation as the events played out.

Finally, a man stepped out of the wagon. He was the first person Nicos had ever laid eyes on who dressed as gaudily as Eurya. His armor was golden, glimmering in the daylight. His cape, inlaid with gemstones and gold, was nearly blinding. Even his sword looked more fitting to be a display piece than a tool for killing.

The man leapt off his wagon, and hit the sand in a smooth slide. He was accompanied by two others as he peeled away from the caravan, all three of them using the sand-skating technique. They closed the distance quickly, coming to a stop on top of the nearest dune. Nicos watched them, and waited.

The garishly clad leader stepped forward, and bellowed, "Hello there, my young friend! What brings you to these parts?" His voice was jovial, almost chipper, as if Nicos hadn't just killed three of his compatriots.

Nicos saw no reason to lie. "I'm a traveler, heading to Bastion."

"A traveler to Bastion?" the man echoed. "How fortuitous! I have just come from Bastion. From where do you hail? You're no native, that's for certain!" His last words were punctuated by a hearty laugh.

"Farathun," Nicos responded shortly. "Far to the west, on the other side of the Gravel Sea."

Even at great distance, he could see the interest that his claim aroused. The leader scratched idly at his chin. "That's quite a tale. I'm not sure I believe it. But you seem a rather trustworthy sort. Do you have a trade?"

Nicos lifted his blade slightly. "The sword."

"A mercenary!" the man crowed, clapping his hands together. "Are you interested in a job?"

Nicos blinked, taken aback. He measured his words carefully. "That depends on the job... and the client."

"Oh, don't look at me like that!" the gaudy man cried, with a dramatic flair of his cape. "You wound me with your distrust! You've already killed three of my men. Attempting to kill you now would not be worth the cost. I deal honestly."

"Of course you do," Nicos replied simply.

"We are hunting the natives, you see," the man continued, sending a rush of alarm through NIcos, "and several of my minions rather mistook you for one. A perfectly reasonable misunderstanding, I'm sure you'll agree." He smiled. "Of course, no tribesman kills with such ruthlessness . The survivors will be chastised."

"I've heard that the desert tribes are peaceful," Nicos said slowly. "What did they do to draw your ire?"

"Ah, there's no grudge between us," the leader replied, waving his hand dismissively. "Just business, I'm afraid. The Arena needs gladiators, and the construction yards needs slaves. I'll probably sell a few to the Fleshmonger, too, now that I think of it. It's all very profitable, I assure you, and you will be fairly compensated."

Nicos struggled to keep himself emotionless, choosing instead to wipe his hand across his face to conceal his expression. After a long moment of fake consideration, he glanced back to the... slaver.

"What profit could there be in going after those savages?" Nicos found it easy to inject the disdain he was feeling into his voice. "They disappear into the desert like rats, and constantly move from camp to camp. And there are few enough of them, besides."

"Ah, but that's where you are wrong!" The leader shook a chastising finger. "We've acquired the location of multiple oases where the natives make their camps. The Naru, the Odekai, and the Shon'ra are all ripe for the picking. Between the three, we have hundreds of possible targets. So how about it? I could use a man of your skill." He eyed Nicos slyly. "Perform well and there could be a bonus for you. A woman, perhaps? Or a man? There will be more than enough, of both, to go around."

The slaver from Bastion was, Nicos realized, exactly as the Naru had described. Power was everything. Nicos was strong, and so he was valued. The man wanted that power for himself, and offered what he assumed the boy wanted in exchange.

The thought made him ill.

"Unfortunately, I have already promised to meet someone in Bastion," Nicos declined neutrally. "If I were to fail to follow through, the consequences would be most unpleasant." He paused, then added half-heartedly. "My apologies."

The slaver sighed theatrically. "Ah, well, that's what I get for getting my hopes up. Very well, my young friend, we shall part without ill feelings. May I have your name, at least?"

"Nicos," the boy replied, biting the inside of his lip. The pain kept his emotions in check.

"Excellent. Excellent. Excellent," the garish man chanted in rapid staccato. His hand swept over his chest, and he dipped into a bow. "And I am Vaughn Cardin, owner of the Grand Bastion Fighting Arena. Seek me out in a turn or two, if you need work. My Arena could use a fighter of your skill, and coin is never short for our gladiators!"

"I'll keep it in mind," NIcos replied dryly.

With a last, jaunty wave, the slaver left. His men accompanied him, as they skated in the direction of the caravan, which was now far in the distance. Nicos watched them until they faded out of sight.

Do what is right, Urz's father had told him. That was all he had asked, in exchange for saving Nicos' life.

The boy stared hard in the direction of the roaming band of slavers. If they continued as they were, they would eventually run into the Naru's old camp. It was now abandoned, but that didn't mean they could not be tracked, with some effort. That didn't mean that they were safe.

The Memory of Urz flashed across his mind. Nemuba, and Urz's father. Even Grasa and the twin children.

The boy grit his teeth, sheathed his sword, and set out once more. Not in the direction of the caravan, but towards the oasis that Urz had spoken of, shortly before they had parted. The slavers would find the Naru's camp, but the boy would find the Naru. He would warn them. He would protect them.

It was only right.