It had been two days since they left Javen. Two days of suffering through Talon’s glares, Wyatt’s reticence, and the combined disdain of the men that he had hired. Plus, the heat seemed to grow worse every day that they were out among the sand dunes. He grew weary of the endless sight of them. Some days, I wish I never had magic, Marek thought as he pulled out a waterskin, uncapped it, and drank from it. It was piss-warm, of course, but Marek choked it down all the same. You had to do many things that you otherwise wouldn’t do to survive in the desert.

The only time you were cold was at night. You were shivering either beside a fire or miserably huddled up in blankets. If you were lucky, you were doing both.

I’m definitely not lucky. Marek put away his waterskin, tucking it into a pouch on the side of his camel that was easily reachable. Then, he placed a hand on his pendant, as he often did these days. It was cold, probably the only thing on him that was cold, at least until the sun went down.

Marek bit back a groan as Wyatt came riding up beside him. He was dressed in leathers, as he usually was, with his short sword belted onto his side. He looked graceful, but Wyatt always seemed to know how to do anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a Mage in disguise, Marek thought with an eye roll as Wyatt slowed his camel to walk beside his.

“There’s trouble near the back of the caravan,” Wyatt said. “You should probably call a halt for a bit until you sort it out.”

“What’s the problem?” Marek asked, gathering the reins of his camel and gripping them hard. It wasn’t much, but it helped prevent him from snapping at his Second. He remained jealous that everyone seemed to prefer to listen to Wyatt over Marek. Whenever Wyatt ‘suggested’ something, it was followed almost immediately as if he were the one on command. It was never an outright order, nothing that Marek could say was infringing on his inherit command of the Company, but over the past two days, he had been increasingly shunted to the side.

“Let’s see,” Marek said, impatiently turning around and riding back from his position at the front of the caravan. “Keep going!” Marek called over his shoulder when Ako and a few others looked at him questioningly.

Wyatt followed behind him wordlessly as they rode alongside the caravan.

It was odd riding in the desert. It was nothing like firm land where you could feel the ground beneath your pounding mount’s feet. In the desert, for each step you took it felt as if you were sinking. For each step, it felt as though the rider was sinking in a bog. It was never a feeling Marek had ever fully gotten used to.

When they reached near the back of the caravan, Marek almost groaned at what he saw: Talon talking animatedly with Anton, who looked very puzzled as he nodded agreeably with the ranting Kulok.

“And this pace!” Talon ranted. “It is too much. Too much, I tell you! We’re nearly out of water already, and it’s not even the third day. It—”

“Talon,” Marek interrupted. Anton whirled on his camel. He flashed a bright smile that was so full of relief that Marek almost laughed, which would have been probably the worst thing he could do right now. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked as Anton rode to his left side. Wyatt sat on his right, thankfully content to let Marek speak uninterrupted at the moment. For the moment.

“Problem? Talon sputtered. “Problems, my friend,” he made the last word sound like the most despicable thing in existence. “This pace you set is fast, much too fast for my caravan.”

“I know,” Marek said. Already, he was getting a pounding headache from Talon’s complaining. He should’ve been a housewife. “It won’t last long.”

“And the water!” Talon said, throwing up his hands. “We are nearly out of water, friend. I don’t know if you have ever traveled through the Huzha before, but we won’t last more than three days without it, and that’s if Noam herself is smiling upon us!”

“Are you really asking me if I traveled through the Huzha before when we just left Javen?” Marek asked, which made Wyatt snort and Anton choke back a laugh. Talon’s face reddened, an impressive feat considering how red it already was, but Marek waved it off. Doesn’t he already know where we’re going?

“We’re going to the Lake of Peace. We should arrive there by tomorrow, at the pace that we’re going.”

“Oho!” Talon exclaimed. For a second, Marek wanted nothing more than to draw his wand and send Talon flying up in the air, so far and so high that he would never be anyone’s problem again. The sight in his mind’s eye was comforting.

“You think you’re going to be let into the Lake of Peace?” Talon said. He laughed mirthlessly. Then, he spat on the ground began to speak in his own language. “Foolish outlander will never be allowed in.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Marek replied with only a slight accent. Talon swore and reared back as if he had been slapped. “I know of the customs and what will be asked of me. I am ready to swear the Oath.”

“You—how—” Talon stuttered, a sight that Marek would cherish forever. It didn’t last long. The Carvan Master took a moment to gather himself before he asked the first question Marek expected him to ask: “How do you know the Tongue?”

“Velaire, the ‘magic city’ as you call it, teaches much,” Marek said, rolling his shoulders until he heard a satisfying crack. He tried not to look at anyone but Talon, as he knew that everyone in the nearby vicinity would now be listening to his conversation. “I’ve always been interested in languages, and I’ve always been drawn to Kulok. It is a fascinating language that I’ve tried to master to the best of my abilities.”

“And have you?” Talon asked, switching back to Kulok. “How do I know that you’re not just speaking a few words to impress me?”

“You don’t,” Marek said, and Talon nodded, looking satisfied, and for some reason, a little smug.

“While you speak the Tongue,” he began, and he paused, looking for the right words before he eventually shook his head irritably. “What plan do you have?”

“It is simple,” Marek said. He twisted his wrist and drew his wand. Talon leaned forward on his mount, his eyes widening as Marek displayed something that was worth more than his Caravan of herbs and spices a hundred times over. “They will have a problem in their village that requires magical aid. I will solve it.”

“And how do you know?” Talon demanded. “How do you know they will need a Magi?”

“Who doesn’t?” Marek asked with a grin. “Even if it’s something that can be done, who wouldn’t leap at the idea of hiring a Mage to solve a difficult problem?”

Talon nodded again, reluctance and admiration warring across his face. Eventually, admiration won. “You do speak good sense,” he admitted before he glared at Marek again. “You won’t keep this pace past the Lake.”

“I won’t,” Marek confirmed. “We just need to make it to the Lake first, then Labak, then onto our destinations from there out of the Huzha.”

“Yes,” Talon said. He suddenly seemed much calmer, as if what he had put on was a facade. “Good. I understood your route from the start, but I wanted to know your reasoning.”

“You could’ve just asked,” Marek said, irritated at the subterfuge. “You knew our route from the start.”

“No; I don’t trust you,” Talon said bluntly. There was a keenness to his eyes that Marek wasn’t sure if he liked or not. “I see now that you have a plan. That is good.”

“I’ll do my best not to disappoint you in the future,” Marek said dryly. “Would that be all, Talon?”

Talon paused, considering the question. On Marek’s left, Anton shifted on his mount. Marek glanced around and saw that everyone—including the other Kulok that had either been hired by Marek or brought on by Talon—had been watching the conversation raptly and that the whole caravan had come to a stop.

The merchant master looked around and saw this too. “Did I or the Captain tell you to stop?!” he shouted. “Get back to work!”

The caravan started up again, a soft flow of conversation beginning almost immediately. Marek watched the caravan. It was sluggish at first, beginning in fits and starts, but eventually, the caravan organized itself in relatively quick order and began moving forward. Talon rode about the caravan, shouting and yelling as the pace quickly picked up to where it had been.

“Well done,” Wyatt said quietly beside Marek, making him nearly jump. Anton had already ridden away, and while he hadn’t seen Wyatt leave, he had forgotten as he hadn’t said anything for a long time. A surprise, but a welcome one, Marek thought wryly.

“Thank you,” Marek said. “I expect there should be no more arguments, at least for a little while.”

“Are you sure about that?” Wyatt said, his voice suddenly harsh and cold. Marek turned, confused, only to see Wyatt smirking.

“Funny,” Marek said. He shook his head at his Second. “You think you’re funny.”

“I have my moments,” Wyatt said, still smirking. “Now, we should catch up to the caravan, or we’ll be eating sand soon.”

“Agreed,” Marek said. He went to go follow the caravan, but Wyatt held out an arm and stopped him.

“I want to apologize,” he said.

“Oh?” Marek asked. He turned his mount so that it could fully face Wyatt. “For what?”

“Don’t play the fool,” Wyatt snapped before he closed his eyes a moment and visibly calmed himself. “I want to apologize for my actions recently… and more into the past since I took up my role as a Second for your Company.”

“Apology accepted,” Marek said. Wyatt’s head snapped back.

“Already?” Wyatt asked, looking shocked. “I—"

“I don’t care if you doubt me, in fact, I welcome it,” Marek said, cutting Wyatt off with a raised hand. “I want to know when I’m wrong, and I want you to hold me to a high standard. I know you’ve seen and experienced more than I have, and I know you are more than capable at leading this Company if you so chose. I understand. I want to do this, though. This is my Company, and you are my Second. You agreed to this, and that is how it shall remain for the near future.”

“I judged you prematurely,” Wyatt said. “As you said, I’ve experienced much. I don’t like magicals.”

“I’ve noticed,” Marek said. “I don’t blame you. Magical users have a bad reputation and for good reason. The Divinity War was only a few hundred years ago, and Velaire is cut off from the main world. People fear what they don’t understand, and even we don’t understand magic. I don’t think we ever will fully understand it.”

“Agreed,” Wyatt said. Marek was shocked to see tears in Wyatt’s eyes, which were looking far into the distance. There was a softness in his grizzled face that Marek had never seen before, and he felt as though he was intruding on a private moment.

“Let’s go,” Wyatt said, and the moment passed.

Marek nodded, tapped the side of his mount, and soon both men were riding back toward the Caravan.