The Festival of the Undrawn, also known as the Contest of the Saints, is an annual event held in the City of Dust, Al-Lazar. Warriors from all over the continent, and occasionally from beyond, travel here to test their mettle against each other.

From this pool of brave fighters, the Shareholder families of the great city frequently select their guards and entourage. In the fabled times of yore, it is whispered that certain noble families ventured beyond the confines of tradition, choosing their consorts from among these gallant fighters to fortify their dynasties.

Various businesses of the city often sponsor a fighter to bring these minor houses of trade some measure of prestige. Winning the tournament is a tremendous honor. Yet, for the Shareholder families, the triumph of a fighter they have chosen is more than a mere victory. It is an investment of prestige that pays dividends in influence at the city’s Council, giving their voice greater weight, especially in matters of war.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

In a rare moment of introspection, my thoughts danced across the fading memories of my old world, as together, we walked on warming sands. At this juncture of my life, no doubt many of my old circle of friends would falsely label me a sociopath, others would hit closer to the mark of a psychopath, and the even less imaginative would call me a narcissist. I would prefer to think of myself as something far more noble, I was a survivor. Evidence to this fact, I had survived all of the ridiculous trials and tribulations that this game had thrown at me. Who cared about those fair-weather friends anyway? I doubt any of them would have been of any use to me in this world, I thought to myself, eyes focusing to the front.

Kidu led the way ahead of us, his long stride eating up the distance. Every now and again he would stop and wait for us to catch up, a vague tic of annoyance occasionally playing about on his rocky features. Worried, he had offered me a Healing potion. I refused his offer as politely as I could, my magic more than enough to see to my well-being. Shrugging his massive shoulders, he explained to me that they had made a temporary camp while they had searched for me. According to him, the caravan was a day’s travel ahead, and Laes had agreed to wait only for a week before he would have to resume travel. It was lucky that they had found me when they did.

Along the way, Cordelia had whispered prayers over and over, eyes closed as she offered her supplication to her goddess. I felt a tingle of radiance, holy energy, wash over me. It was a similar sensation to my own Heal spell, but there was no holy song nor angelic light. Out of a corner of one eye, I saw Larynda try and copy Cordelia, only to completely fail. This drew a beatific smile from the Temple Knight, satisfied as she was that her goddess had answered her prayer. It was more than the words of a chant that gave one control of magic, I concluded.

An hour or two passed, and the distinctive shape of a huge Xaruar was now clear to see. Another hour and we were close enough that I could hear the river. We had arrived at my companions’ temporary camp. A man wrapped out in a collection of loose flowing cloth walked out with a sauntering gait to meet us.

“Well… well… if it isn’t the man blessed by the luck of all the gods. Avaria’s tits, you really did survive getting gobbled down by a Guardian! Not that I doubted for a moment!” Elwin half-shouted in obvious joy, before he ran the last few paces to give me an uncomfortable hug. I had never been comfortable with public displays of affection, preferring to keep an appropriate social and physical distance away from people.

“What’s with… your attire? I almost didn’t recognize you…” I inquired once he was done with his public outburst.

Holding up his arms to display his new garments, he began to explain. “These… a bit hot now around these parts. The Raven folk started wearing ‘em, and I thought why not? They looked a bit hot, but surely they can’t be worse than a thick padded jacket. In fact, surprisingly cool. Course, you look as if a giant sandworm swallowed you up and spat you out!” he added with a grin.

Unable to think of a witty rejoinder, I just gave him a weak smile in response. I took a quick glance at what was left of my brown robe, my garment that had survived encounters with monsters and gods. It was definitely on its last legs.

Elwin, I knew, was speaking the truth, I really did look a mess. As for the Rogue, he was wearing garb that was a close approximation to the desert clothes of Bedouin tribes of Earth. The loose-fitting cloth helped the air to circulate, hence keeping the body cool. These clothes also protected people from the hot winds and dust storms. I would have to see about acquiring some once we rejoined the Ravens.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Still, a part of me could not help but feel that it looked a little silly on him. He looked, at least to my eyes, like a tourist trying on the local costume. As for Larynda, it seemed that the heat did not touch her in the slightest. No doubt due to her recent mastery of the element of water.

Cordelia, as always, looked beautiful, despite being in full armor. Only a single line of sweat on her delicate brow was the evidence of the heat or physical exertion.

It was actually the stolid Kidu that worried me the most. He was sweating buckets, his dreadlocks drenched. The heat was most definitely taking its toll on him. Larynda offered him a water flask, which he proceeded to gulp down. It was to his great credit that he did not offer a word of complaint, and inside I found myself respecting his stoicism. Or was it simply a form of youthful bravado? Hopefully, he would not suffer from heatstroke.

Obsequiously, Pakum walked up to me and offered a bow.

“Welcome back, Honored One,” he offered in a nasal voice, bowing deeply.

He held both his hands out, and for a stupid moment, I thought that he was waiting for a tip. An awkward few seconds later, I realized he wanted to relieve me of the silly amount of water skins and bags I had about my person. Gratefully, I fulfilled his wish. What was surprising was that I barely felt the difference. Had I turned into the human variant of a pack mule?

Much lighter of spirit, I started towards the river to splash my face, only to spy Patches staked down next to Pakum’s sleeping Xaruar and our mounts. A stab of guilt spiked through my heart, for I had barely spared a thought to my equine companion. Walking down to check on her, my hand unconsciously reached for treats inside my pack that weren’t there. Shaking my head at my old man moment, I settled for giving her a good stroke. Delighted, she gave my gauntlets a good licking.

“Forgive me, Master Gilgamesh, but the caravan waits for us upriver. I fear that it is best that we rejoin with them,” suggested Cordelia from behind me.

Though I longed to just simply rest, I had an image to maintain. If Kidu could endure the heat then I could deal with a ride.

****

Up on my mount, I relished the vista before me. In the time I had spent under the earth, the desert had bloomed. Expanding from beyond the banks of the straight river was an explosion of life. The bleached sands had given way to lush a carpet of grass, and large horsetails that rivaled trees had sprung up. The land was so vibrant with life and raw vitality that every glance revealed movement. Animals had awoken from their annual slumber, frolicking among the greenery. Were it not for the endless expanse of barren sand at the edge of my vision, it would have made a mockery of the name, ‘The Whispering Wastes’.

Cordelia and Elwin rode ahead of us, and I rode alongside Kidu and Pakum on their Xaruar. Behind the large proto-dragon, Larynda rode on Patches, a big smile on her face. Pakum had erected a large covering over the Xaruar, supported by poles attached to the saddle or howdah of the creature. This provided both him and our Hunter a measure of refuge against the sun.

Curious to the reasons for my salvation, I decided to ask Pakum a question, “Why did you not search for me while riding? Surely, that would have been the best way to go about it? And, just how were you able to find me anyways?”

It was then that the Xaruar decided to pause for a moment as if it was considering my question before chomping down on some new greenery. Pakum, annoyed, idly tapped his riding cane against the large creature's head, causing it to give up its snack.

“With all respect, Honored One, the sands where they found you, in that direction from the Samasutum, are treacherous. Not flat and hard like they are along the river. Uncle Abas says it is because of the roots of the old growth that the sand is different there. The sands beyond the river’s claim is different. Some is soft, some hard. Rocky in places, others not. The mounts would be more a liability than anything in the Wastes proper. In the Wastes, the sands are always shifting, making it difficult for horses to maintain their footing, exhausting them, or leading them to injury. Let alone one with a rider. Ramal here, more so,” he answered, pointing affectionately to the big lizard. “Your people would have been forced to walk them. Also, I would be beaten for risking the animals so. I hope that answers your first question to your satisfaction. It was a miracle that we were able to find you. I prayed for you every day,” he added with complete earnestness.

I had suspected something along those lines. Walking across the sands had indeed been a slog. The undulating dunes, rocky and gravelly at times, had been difficult, even for me, to traverse. This sort of terrain would have been difficult for the horses.

“And to your second question. Lady Dazerac, she had a revelation that you were alive and well. She told us where to look for you. Not that I doubted, of course. Ankhset’s apprentice would also have been able to sense you, too, of this I am sure,” he answered with a straightforward solemnity.

I found myself liking the kid. He answered directly, and there was nary a hint of deception or obfuscation about his manner. However, his answer to my second question was troubling, confirming Cordelia’s ramblings to be more than the exclamation of a believer going through a religious experience. It was indeed worrying that my “salvation” had been due to powers outside of my control. But, had it been more Cordelia or Larynda? Larynda, at the cost of some of my pride, I could stomach. Cordelia, on the other hand, meant that still, the goddess was pulling invisible strings as part of some inscrutable plan.

For a moment, it looked as though Larynda had something to add, but I turned away, pretending not to notice... I simply could not deal with anything else at the moment. I needed time to unwind and decompress. Also, I was sure that she would find a way to tell me whatever was on her mind later anyway, as was the annoying nature of children.