Trapped in a whirlpool of icy water, Liam’s sleep-deprived mind couldn’t help but fixate on how bone-chillingly cold it was. Al-Zahra was a city thousands of kilometers away from the nearest water source; all three rivers that fed the massive city had to travel all that distance in an aqueduct. Aqueducts that stood under the scorching heat of the desert. Yet, when he’d written about these waters, he’d described them as being lukewarm, even if cooler than the ambient, oven-like heat.

Suffocating, fighting against the current, stumbling in a whirlpool of motion, Liam’s mind kept bouncing back to that singular fact. Years of writing pages upon pages about this place, and he’d found a mistake in his work within hours of landing there. Whether he’d actually somehow created the world itself was of little concern; as far as he cared, he could have just gotten visions or dreamed of it.

What mattered was that some of the information he had was incorrect, and there was no way to be certain short of testing. The euphoria this brought him rushed through his veins and gave him a metaphorical second wind.

Sputtering, flailing, and coughing his way to the surface, he didn’t need the strength to fight the current but to remain afloat long enough to draw short, gasping breaths. Within minutes, the river had washed him, Umira, and a considerable amount of debris into one of the many narrow streets that plagued the city.

The mage who had not once let go of his bathrobe finally released him.

She’d lost the cloth she’d used to wrap her head somewhere along the way, exposing her reptilian features: dark beige scales and a stout muzzle. Umira didn’t waste any time, looking around to check if there was anyone else nearby, and proceeded to remove the layers of her clothes. The unassuming brown clothes were replaced by a muted green thobe over what was likely leather armor of some kind.

Liam sat in mild fascination as she revealed more of her features. Umira was of the draxani race, kobold-like reptilian humanoids with whip-like scaly tails and few similarities to humans other than the limb distribution. Their muscles were wiry but strong, with a penchant for climbing and great peripheral vision. They were a relatively new species, only having come into existence four ages ago, or the rough equivalent of a billion years.

Umira shifted under his gaze, turning to give him her full attention. Whatever passed for thoughts underneath those oddly near-fluorescent red eyes was a mystery. They were intense, in an odd way that felt as if someone were scrutinizing you inside and out.

His smile widened, fully aware that if she could read his thoughts, then she still wouldn’t be able to overcome the language barrier. “As I am right now, I’m dead weight, you know,” he mused out loud, gesturing at his soggy self. Though exhausted in just about every sense of the word, he was enjoying the cool water as he tried to put his thoughts in order.

Sleep was very high on the priority list. The adrenaline was pulling triple duty by now, and the backs of his eyes were throbbing against his skull.

But the patriarch of one of the most powerful clans in the Caliphate had been attacked. Granted, what would’ve been a successful assassination was now only a failed attempt, but the whole of Al-Zahra would be hunting for Umira within the next few hours regardless.

“You’d do well to make a run for Noor while you can,” he advised. Not that he expected she would, not immediately at least. Liam fully expected Umira would keep him within stabbing distance until the sibling was rescued.

After that, she’d probably dump his ass on the side of the road and make a run for it. Until that happened, he planned to take some advantage too. Having a local would be of great help to get him on his feet.

Her reptilian features didn’t work too well with expressions compared to a human’s, but the slight narrowing of her eyes at the mention of her sibling’s name was enough. “Fiklishar, Liam,” she said in annoyance, helping him up and turning her attention down to his bare feet. Clearly, she’d noticed his lack of slippers.

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“The instant I get this whole language barrier out of the way, I’m going to find out what ‘fiklishar’ means.” He shook his head. “Also, I lost my favorite coffee mug. I hope someone gives the poor guy a good wash and a better life.”

Umira glanced at him when he said the word, but otherwise was focused on the clothes she’d just removed. She’d pulled out her knife and began tearing the ensemble into ribbons. Turning to him, she threw the shredded cloth at him.

Liam looked at the cloth and then back up at her. She motioned at his exposed feet.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” It was a horrid job, tying all the strands of cloth around his feet, but Liam felt proud of his handiwork. It wasn’t a pair of good sneakers, and would undoubtedly shred and tear, but it was way better than nothing at all.

They set off, with Liam mostly trying to keep up with the far-less-tired Umira. The draxani led the way with familiarity, avoiding larger streets and mostly keeping to the alleyways.

The atmosphere of the city had changed, even though the blazing sun overhead was no different than an hour ago, people were now leery. The merchants had begun pulling back their wares, everyone moved about with purpose or remained glued to a spot, ever-watchful of their surroundings. But what really hammered home how tense things were becoming was that the children were gone. Every sign pointed to their having been called home or to their avoiding the streets.

After a few hours, with their clothes well and truly dried by the bitter kiss of the sun, they reached a house. To Liam, it looked no different from any of the other mud-brick constructions. Umira knocked loudly, and another draxani opened up, this one dressed in mild reds and with green scales, and at about the same height, meaning it was a female.

The two began talking quickly, with the green stranger glancing at Liam warily every few seconds.

“I’m sorry about the bother. I’m Liam Carter,” he greeted when he felt like they were expecting him to pipe up. Not entirely sure what else they wanted, he bowed at her.

The two draxanis shared glances.

“Liam Carter,” Umira pointed at the green one. “Niruru.”

The lack of a surname marked her as not nobility, and the name itself didn’t ring any of Liam’s bells. As far as it seemed, this acquaintance of Umira hadn’t been important in the broader scale of things.

“Delightful, Niruru.” He waved, wondering where this was going.

Apparently, it was inside.

After a good ten minutes of back-and-forth, the two of them stepped into the house, and Liam was motioned to join inside. The whole place was cluttered with… everything. A little of everything. The whole of the first floor was shelves and boxes, each of them stacked and filled with an incredibly wide assortment of knickknacks. From shiny rocks to golden scissors, and plants of vivid wild colors.

Was this a merchant’s place?

The answer came once they reached the second floor, when Umira tugged the bathrobe off Liam and presented it to Niruru. The woman took the material into her hands and caressed it as if it were fine silk… which to her, perhaps it was. She proceeded to pull out a small glass ball, pressing it against the cloth and peering inside.

Whatever she saw, she liked.

It was at this time that the haggling began.

Liam mostly just tuned them out, trying to keep himself focused and letting out a yawn. His eyelids began to grow heavy the further along the conversation went. First, the two argued over how much for the bathrobe, and then for the pajamas. By the end of it, Liam had a nice set of uncomfortable leather boots, a scratchy set of white cotton clothes, and some supplies to carry around in a bag.

And a pouch that contained sixty silver coins, way more than he knew what to do with.

“Oh, she’s a fence.” His brain kicked back into gear as soon as they’d left Niruru’s abode. “Don’t look at me like that; I need sleep.” He yawned again, rubbing his eyes and making the motions of lying down.

She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to murder the patriarch of the most powerful clan in the city. Or maybe that was just the default look all draxani had; their faces weren’t very emotive, so it was hard to read.

To which he rolled his eyes anyway. “Look, my brain’s a jumbled mess right now. Hell, I’m almost sure I’m hallucinating that the wind is chasing… us?”

It was as if they were trapped in a minuscule whirlwind, the sand and dust circling around them a couple of times and then flying off down a street. It was an amusing phenomenon, one he was sure he’d never…

Liam’s eyes widened. “Run!” He grasp Umira's hand and began to bolt in the exact opposite direction from which the wind was pointing.

Not a second later, he heard that blasted trumpet, a sound that echoed by at least a dozen others, all spread around in every direction.

They were being hunted by the drakara riders, blessed by the wind.