How should a person be judged and remembered?
By their circumstances?
By their intentions?
By their character?
By their actions?
By their results?
By their legacy?
— Excerpt from Meditations, by the Red Emperor
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The Road
Molam's nose noticed the change long before he saw the brown dirt of the road turn to speckled gray ash. He'd expected it, of course. The signs had been building for days, subtle shifts in the air, the land, and even the colors of the plants. But sometimes the body did not keep up with the mind's expectations. And now, as they crossed into the heart of the desolation, the crispness of the air had turned foul, acrid, with the unmistakable undertone of burnt smoke. It was the kind of smell that clung to the back of the throat, cloying and sharp, thick with the residue of something burnt.
The wagon jolted as it moved forward, and Primrose, sitting across from him, poked her head inside. Her face was partially obscured by a purple cloth mask, and she handed him a white one for himself.
"I assume you've seen it before?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled by her mask. "I've heard of it, but… they should have talked more about that smell. It's like the bodies are still burning."
"This is the third time I'll pass by it," replied Molam as he brought the mask up to his face to fumble with the cloth. "And the simple words most people use will just be things like 'unbearable,' but it's hard to describe smell with just words alone." Seeing her eyebrows frown in distaste, he added, "Your nose will adjust soon, so much that you don't even think about it after some time."
Primrose's arm shot forward, clearly annoyed at how long it was taking Molam to put on his mask. He surrendered, allowing her to tie it firmly around his face to cover both the mouth and nose.
"I doubt it's improved since you last saw it," she said wryly, finishing it up to briefly admire her handiwork. "But after days of hiding away with your notes, this is what you come out for?"
Molam shrugged. "I need a good excuse to set down my notes. Do you have any good stretches for the neck?"
He stepped gingerly past the wooden board and looked outside. Blue skies greeted him, dotted with the occasional cloud. Far off in the distance were the rolling hills, characteristic of the Central Valley, dotted with patches of bright yellow, soft pink, and vivid turquoise.
Immediately to their right was the River Ash, its waters flowing sluggishly along the rocky banks. The river had earned its name from the gray tint to the water, an unsettling color that hinted at the dark origins of its path. Molam followed the flow of the river upstream with his eyes, tracing it back to where it split into the vast expanse of Lake Sapphire. His gaze hovered there, ignoring the ashy surface of the lake as his focus was drawn towards remnants of the City that sat on an island in the center of the water.
The blackened ruins of Kamisukawa looked as desolate as ever. Once a bustling metropolis known as the Empire's Sapphire, Kamisukawa's towering spires and grand structures now lay in crumbling disarray, their charred remains a stark contrast against the tranquil waters that enveloped them. The island itself seemed frozen, as if it was so haunted by the memories of an era when it had outshone even Crimson City's grandeur that it could no longer see the world outside it.
A shiver ran down his spine. The dead stayed with God Yven, but Molam couldn't help wondering if the chill meant something more than ruins remained. Perhaps the air still carried remnant energies from the eight million residents that had lived there, slaughtered in one night as their City burned around them.
A part of him vaguely remembered that this was once GloomSire's home, and the pieces suddenly fell together. Molam could guess why the man was eternally bandaged.
Despite the passage of time, the devastation wrought by the Prince's wrath refused to fade. For some reason, nature had yet to reclaim its territory in the decades since the Burning of Kamisukawa; where one expected tendrils of ivy creeping up weathered walls and blooming wildflowers, there was only obliterated husks as far as the eyes could see. The silence was eerie, laden with melancholy. Molam imagined he could hear the echoes of the past whispering through the silent streets, a palpable reminder of the City's tragic fate when it made a fatal bid to be Free.
The whispers and the burn of smoke in his lungs reminded Molam of who exactly they intended to kill. The Seventh Crown. Burner of Rivers. Butcher of Kamisukawa. Death's Shadow, as the Northerners called him around their HeartHomes, or the Calm Cease if you listened to the tales from the Formosan Islanders. But everyone under the Sun knew the man's main Title.
The Bloody Prince.
Looking down, Molam spied Kalle and Primrose also gazing upon the ruin. Kalle's brows were closely knit, his usual relaxed air replaced by tension. It wasn’t hard for Molam to guess the man was thinking of Techoria; Molam had to admit the alchemist City wasn’t far from his own mind. Did it look similar after the Bright Night? He had no idea, but he hoped to visit its remnants someday. He owed Flangel the Wise that much.
Primrose wore a somber expression of her own. Her normally sharp gaze had become distant, with her blue eyes seemingly unfocused, though her eyebrows were knit similarly to Kalle’s. Although she faced Kamisukawa, she looked as though her mind was somewhere else.
Perhaps she was thinking of Teljumaya.
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The Road
The group had become accustomed to the activities of the mursashu when the Sun dipped into the horizon. Members found their assigned mursasho, breaking wordlessly into their expected roles and functions to get the caravan into a safe position for the evening's rest.
While no normal bandits would ever dare pillage a mursashu caravan, the same could not be said for roving packs of wild animals or even unexpected monsters. Location, then, was paramount. A pair of riders rode ahead to look for a large flat area with a source of water nearby, preferring rivers and creeks so the water was not stagnant.
By the time the caravan arrived, the two riders had already cleared the campsite of debris for the wagons to park in a circular shape. It created a sort of enclosure, giving those within enough space to see outside while providing a protective barrier against any would-be attacks.
Once parked, a mursasho responsible for handling the animals untethered the horses and led them to the water source, allowing them to drink their fill and graze while freeing the animals from their harnesses. Several mursashu walked alongside the horses, feeding them choice apples and brushing their coats. Two mursashu men were inspecting each wagon, crawling under the carriage to check the wheels and axles. Three women helped nearby, holding up lanterns for light and providing the men with whatever tools they asked for.
Campfires were struck — a large one in the center, then several more popped up as the mursashu grouped together with their friends and family. Molam piled together pieces of wood, flicking his flametool into a spark when no one was looking.
Meera appeared when the fire was crackling, handing him a pot filled by the chef. Molam nodded in thanks, hefting the heavy container onto the open fire before opening the lid to check inside. Vegetables — green, purple, orange, and brown — floated among chunks of red meat in water. Ah, right. The riders had supposedly shot a wild boar when they found this rest stop. He put the lid back on — the stew would cook into a fine broth while they continued to prepare for the evening.
It wasn't until Molam was preparing tea after dinner that Cholani sidled into view, sitting down on the side of the campfire opposite Molam. Either they hadn't changed into practical travel wear like the others, or they had somehow found the time to put on comfortably loose silk robes.
"So what's going horribly in your life?" the mursashu asked conversationally as they settled in.
Molam paused in the middle of pouring tea for the two of them. "Is that the right way to start a conversation?"
"It's the best way," Cholani asserted, accepting the cup of tea with both hands. "Cuts right to the chase, don't you think? We communicate for so many reasons; sharing joy and spreading misery whether it's through delightful discourse or energetic eloquence, but isn't the real reason to commiserate about the qualms of life?" Cholani winked at Molam, their amber eyes looking almost topaz in the light.
Kalle laughed from inside the wagon, where he was eating his stew with Primrose. "That must be Cholani I hear."
"Kalle!" Cholani greeted, almost shouting so that Kalle could hear. "I heard you rejected the Mursa's request to come up with a way to carry water efficiently."
The alchemist's guffaw echoed out from within. "Did he call that a rejection? He's only asking for a way to break a fundamental law of alchemy written by the Gods themselves. If I ever come up with a way to make water weigh less, I'll let you know."
"Excellent to know you're working on it." Cholani beamed, then turned their attention back to Molam. "Now, what can I do for you? How bad has your life become?"
Molam sipped at his tea, deciding not to contest the premise. "Bad enough, I suppose." He almost winced at the verbal admission — then collected himself. Cholani was mursashu, and he couldn't forget who they reported to. Their cheery demeanor had allowed them to lead this conversation long enough. "I find myself looking for more information about Mursa Allyce. Having recently spoken to Mursa Shang and Jyuni as well as the other mursashi, I understand you are the last mursashi who has spent considerable time with Mursa Allyce. My hope is you've been told to share what you have with me."
"Ahh, yes. I seem to remember a missive like that being passed to me earlier today." Cholani peered at Molam over their tea. "What have the others shared with you?"
"Only the obvious bits," Molam muttered, reciting what he had already committed to memory. "Roughly forty or so Sorrows. White of hair and skin, with pink eyes. Looks to have Northerner blood despite her short stature? An anima before she became Mursa. Mursa Shang claims he didn't know much about her before Mursa Synbad named her as his successor, which shocked him considering Mursa Synbad had another apprentice at the time."
He paused, trying to think of the other bits and pieces of information he had. Molam didn't want Cholani to repeat what he already knew. "While Mursa Shang and Mursa Khan mainly prefer to travel the mainland around the Central Valley, Mursa Allyce expanded on Mursa Synbad's decision to establish trade routes in the Deep Waters. I suppose what's interesting is her taking an active role with her mursashu to fight coastal piracy while trading." Another pause, then Molam added, "and she has yet to name a successor in almost fifteen years, something that worries everyone else. If she dies no one will inherit her Title."
"You've learned quite a bit." Cholani sipped their tea, then bit into a pastry. Molam had no idea where they had hid the food in their clothing, or when they had taken it out. "We could speak at length about her, but I am aware this is all meant to lead you towards — potentially, hopefully, or might I even say, blunderingly — answering her question. I don't suppose you have specific questions to be efficient with my time?" asked Cholani between mouthfuls of raspberry tart.
Molam refilled their empty cups, preparing himself mentally. He had given this much thought throughout the day as he spoke with the others; what was the best way to understand someone you've never met?
"What would you say are the similarities between Mursa Allyce and the other two Mursa?"
This had originally been his third question, but over time Molam had realized it functioned best as the first question. The mind always sought to anchor itself with the familiar, and it would help both him and the answering person to have a mutual understanding of their individual perspectives.
"Their Titles," Cholani answered cheekily, then continued. "I guess you're looking for anything unique to them that most others don't have. Then I will change my answer to be their excellent management of resources. Strong memory. Gastronomes, all of them, but you can't be ruthless behind a negotiation table if you don't have a big appetite, I think?"
"And what are some differences? What makes her different from the other two?"
Once he had a vague mental image, Molam needed to remove as much that did not belong as possible. This next question would refine his understanding.
"Hmm…" Cholani thought about it, now biting into a chunk of honeyed bread. They chewed rhythmically, then swallowed before answering, "For lack of a better term, priorities?"
Molam leaned forward. "Can you expand on that?"
"I think you will need some context." Cholani took a sip from their tea, then produced a stick of cinnamon from somewhere and began chewing it lightly. Molam was starting to wonder if Cholani was actually thin as a reed under their robes, and the appearance of plumpness was due to the amount of snacks they had stored away on their person. "My position over our finances puts me in conversation with my counterparts in the other caravans. We audit each other's work while sharing updated ideas for bookkeeping." They paused, working their jaw over the chewing stick, then said, "I've always been surprised by Mursa Allyce's focus when it comes to trade. She's more willing to gamble than most, almost as though she wants to prove it can be sold for a profit."
It wasn't so much what Cholani was saying and more their contemplative expression that had Molam intrigued. "What makes you say that?"
"Well," Cholani shrugged, "what do you think should be prioritized when you trade?"
"Retaining or obtaining value," Molam replied. Mursa Khan had emphasized this lesson.
"Precisely." Cholani nodded, shifting the cinnamon stick to the other side of their mouth. "Simple concept, really — tremendously difficult, of course, to put into practice."
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Molam frowned. "Are you saying she isn't making a profit? Is Mursa Allyce… losing money?"
"No, no. What? No, no, no." Cholani raised their eyebrows. "Not that, of course. Not at all. Mursa Allyce's profits are certainly keeping pace with ours, so long as you look at the numbers as a whole. It's more about the… shall we say, appearance of extremes that caught my eye. She has several trade entries I would consider too risky to invest in, but which she's turned vastly profitable."
They scrunched up their face in thought before grinning as though remembering something frivolous. "Then there are entries that seemed like the wild wishes of a child, where she took on heavy losses. Who thinks about fermenting cheese while traveling to the destination as a test of efficiency? Or bringing chambanga ale to Oasis — the product spoiled well before she made it through the Endless Sands. If she wasn't still quite profitable after over a decade of trades, I would have taken her for a drunk gambler."
"Some may say it's all gambling, just with different rules," Molam muttered.
"Now that's a neat thought." Cholani smiled. "Oh — my apologies — did you want a cinnamon stick?"
They held out a new stick of cinnamon; Molam hadn't even seen them reach for it. "They're great for cleansing the palate after dinner. Wonderful for helping me get the sticky film out of my teeth, too!"
Molam accepted the offering, holding the stick under his nose. The smoke of the campfire gave way to the tingling scent of spice. He briefly contemplated whether the mursashu had any reason to poison him before chewing on the stick, wondering why he would even consider it.
"So what I understood," Molam began slowly, "is that she has a tendency to make unusual trades."
"Yes. Some degree of risk and new expansion is normal, of course — that's how any new trade route ever comes about — but then again, Mursa Allyce dabbles in risk far more than expected. I'd hazard a guess at…" Cholani paused, scrunching up their face again while doing arithmetic in their head. "Six. Maybe seven times the normal amount. Abnormal indeed, wouldn't you say?"
Something abnormal. Abnormal meant possibly unique, which could lead to additional insight into the person that was Mursa Allyce. After a few seconds of ponderous chewing, Molam asked, "Can you give me a few more examples of her riskier trades?"
"A moment." Cholani leaned back, twisting their torso to the right and then to the left, stretching out their back. Molam realized his posture had also stiffened, and he relaxed his back while shifting his center of gravity.
"Ahh, that's better," the mursashu said after an audible series of pops and cracks, then continued. "Oh. Right. An example. Well… hmm," they murmured, then answered, "I suppose I was already telling you about her chambanga ale mistake, trying to bring it to Oasis. It was part of her establishing the chambanga ale trade."
Molam raised a brow, finally connecting the dots. "The exclusive ale from the Formosan Islands? She started that?"
"It wasn't so highly prized when we were young." Cholani waved their cinnamon stick at Molam like a finger. "Some people still don't think much of it. It's a matter of preference, I suppose, given its lighter taste and fruity aroma."
"I believe it's popular among discerning connoisseurs with a refined palate."
"Bah, connoisseurs," Cholani made a dismissive gesture, "they'd drink camel spit if it made them feel elevated above the masses. They pay for the privilege of rare goods regardless. The reason I chose this one as the example," they continued, "is to focus on Mursa Allyce's accomplishment against all odds. Doing trade with the Formosan Islands was already difficult enough given their exiled status, but the mainland didn't understand chambanga fruit at the time. Worsening the venture was that she first brought it to HaiFeng City of all places — where they have their own specialty spirit: gaoliang."
Molam frowned, trying to recall what he had learned under Mursa Khan's wing. "So from what I understand, she had a novelty good that had no predefined buyer. She brought it to a location that not only didn't understand the item for sale but had their own competing product, is that right?"
They tossed the remains of the cinnamon stick into the campfire, leaning on one knee and giving Molam an appraising look. "You almost speak our parlance like a mursashu." Cholani nodded approvingly. "Correct, and I'm quite surprised you understood that much given my unprepared explanation. But there's more."
"There's more?"
"Chambanga ale doesn't travel well. I don't know much of how it's brewed, but it's supposed to be consumed once it's reached the final stage of fermentation. The arousing aroma that makes chambanga ale special dissipates within a day; not nearly long enough to be transported to the mainland."
"Mursa Allyce found a way, then?" Molam guessed.
Cholani nodded. "Yes. She contracted Zaem's alchemists to create a certain type of container just for securing chambanga ale's taste and aroma. An expensive cost considering at the time, she still had no idea if it would sell."
Molam leaned back and whistled in surprise. "Quite the investment. I can see why this was considered a risky gamble." Mursa Khan would have called it akin to throwing away money. Mursa Shang would have never taken the risk of an unpredictable venture. Molam mulled this story over in his head as he tried to pair it with what he already knew of the third Mursa. Did it just mean that she was more prone to playing with chance, or did it indicate something else?
"When you said it seemed her priorities were different," Molam asked, trying to formulate the question as the thought came to him, "did you mean that she doesn't prioritize risk reduction as much as the other two Mursa?" He also threw his cinnamon stick into the fire. The orange flames licked eagerly at the new kindling, sizzling against the wet saliva.
"I wouldn't say it's that she doesn't prioritize risk reduction, more that it's a… lower priority," Cholani mused. "Perhaps it's better to say that while both Mursa Shang and Mursa Khan prioritize our people's safety above all, Mursa Allyce takes after her predecessor Mursa Synbad in pursuing something new, something different. In a way, contracting with you is the riskiest gamble I've seen my Mursa take in years." They winked, and added, "there's a reason we don't sail the Deep Waters unless we absolutely need to. She's lost at least a shipful of people."
"And her caravan follows her still?" Molam asked, deep in thought. "I thought it's possible to replace a Mursa. Aren't they worried for their lives?"
"Then you never really understood our people, Molam." Cholani smiled, their eyes twinkling. "Some can't take to the nomadic life, but the ones who prefer to leave and settle down are rare. The four centuries since we were forced from our home to wander the world have only resulted in one thing here: a sense of bonding among the mursashu, united by a goal to return to Mur. Unity is our strength! Mursa Diyah instilled it into us so our people would never scatter."
Molam tilted his head. "You're talking about Diyah's Will?"
"Oh no," Cholani laughed, "nothing like that. Only the Mursa need to inherit Diyah's Will. No, it's…" they paused, then continued. "I don't know how to describe it. Have you seen the animals that always seem to return to a place? Usually where they were born, or to the same nesting area? No?" They shook their head at Molam's polite look of confusion. "Ah, I guess you haven't traveled as much as I have. Can't expect you to know everything. Hmm… well, the best way to describe it is a sense of wrongness whenever we stay somewhere too long. Ah, like a pillow that isn't yours! Maybe that makes sense?"
Molam chuckled at Cholani's look of triumph, nodding at the comparison. "I can understand that."
"Well, that feeling of wrongness goes away only when we're in Mur. Even some of those that have settled down in other Cities will sometimes return to a caravan when they can't bear the feeling any longer. We always accept them back, of course."
The campfire crackled, spitting out sparks as Molam considered this. The concept was curious; did Diyah's Will pass through bloodlines or did people who join the mursashu later on also share the same feeling Cholani was describing? He hadn't learned any of it when he’d traveled with Mursa Khan previously. Then again, circumstances had changed.
"But…" he began, organizing his thoughts as swiftly as possible. "My original question is why hasn't Mursa Allyce's caravan chosen to replace her?"
"Oh yes, that was the original question. Well, the answer is simple: they believe her actions — however bizarre to us — are the best method of freeing Mur from DuskWing's Curse."
While this made sense, Molam frowned at the thought. He had always thought being profitable traders was just how the mursashu sustained their people's way of life, but never truly consideredhow the constant traveling enabled each of the three Mursa to search for ways to cleanse Mur. It made sense in retrospect; Mursa Khan and Mursa Shang had both negotiated hard for a meeting with the Oracle when Molam offered it, but he hadn't thought about some of the underlying reasons why they were willing to risk so much. And — if the rumored Diyah's Will drove each of the Mursa's actions, to what extent did it influence them?
Molam set aside that thought for now. "Do you know what Mursa Allyce was specifically looking for then, sailing all throughout the Deep Waters?"
Cholani shrugged. "The same thing Mursa Synbad was looking for: a new land for our people to settle and call Mur. Well," Cholani grinned at Molam, "that's changed now, hasn't it? Putting our Mursa in touch with the Oracle has changed everything, and now all three caravans have been called to help you in Oasis so you will help us in turn."
"I suppose she'll go back to sailing if I can't uphold my side of the bargain." Molam leaned back in his seat, staring into the bright embers of the dying campfire. This had definitely been a worthwhile conversation. He stood up abruptly, brushing his cloak with his thoughts on what he would add to his notes. "Thank you, Cholani. That was quite helpful."
"I'm glad to hear that. And? Did 'what's going horribly in your life?' turn into a great conversation in the end?" they asked, cheeky once more.
"I still think you could have started with 'how can I help?'" Molam side-eyed them as they also stood up to head back to their wagon. "I don't claim to be good at socializing, but implying that someone's life isn't going well seems like a poor tactic to me."
The mursashu laughed as they stretched, shifting from side to side with their arms in the air. "But it worked with you, no? Are you not a man of results?"
Molam found himself without an argument. "Well, I can't refute that."
Cholani grinned. "A man that knows when he's been bested too. I like that. Good night, good night, good night. Come find me tomorrow morning for breakfast if you'd like, I know where the sweets can be found. Those can't stave off a bad day, no, but whoever found sweets a bad way to start a morning?"
And they sauntered off into the night, humming lightly to themselves. Molam watched their form disappear into the dark, then returned to the wagon looking for his notes.
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Mursa's Campfire
"Cholani's here at your request, Mursa."
Mursa Shang looked up at Jyuni's voice, seeing Cholani shuffle into the lamplight's glow.
"Cholani." The Mursa greeted warmly, sitting back and gesturing at Jyuni to pour some tea. "Have a seat."
"No tea, thank you Jyuni, I've had enough for the evening," Cholani replied, bowing once to Mursa Shang before sitting in the offered foldable wooden chair. "You asked me to pay attention to the aura around Molam when I speak to him."
"And?" asked Mursa Shang, leaning forward while dropping his voice to a murmur. He glanced up at Jyuni, who shook her head — no one was nearby. "Anything worth my attention?"
"You weren't exactly clear with what I was looking for," Cholani chided him. "So I assume you only wanted me to come back with what I can say with certainty. Well, I can say that Molam is carrying a jade talisman, but we already knew that. Then the aura around him is the same as the one in Sanctuary, meaning the Oracle hasn't retracted her aura. But…" they paused, suddenly uncertain, before adding, "something feels… burnt."
Mursa Shang frowned. "Burnt?"
"Burnt," they repeated. "And not in the same way red auramancers feel. I felt it back during ZhiXia's Festival, when the Great Bonfire went out, but I guess that doesn't help you. It's more… more…" they fell silent. Mursa Shang and Jyuni stared; it was a rare moment when Cholani was lost for words. "I don't know how to describe it to you since you don't sense it the way I do," they eventually continued, then tapped a cinnamon stick against the lantern, pointing at the flame inside. "This is what normal auramancers feel like. A flame contained inside glass. You can feel the heat radiating, but that's the extent of it. It's contained. And the sensation lingering around Molam," they pointed to the giant bonfire in the middle of their circle of wagons, "is more akin to standing near a blazing bonfire. Except it's not… constant? I don't know how to describe it. It's there, and sometimes it's not. In a way, it's like the lingering smell of a smothered bonfire. I don't know if that's because he also carries the Oracle's aura."
Mursa Shang pondered that for a moment. "Have you ever been in the presence of the WildFire?"
"No, Mursa."
"That must have been my mistake, not dragging you to those meetings." Mursa Shang smiled at his friend, then clapped Cholani on the shoulder. "But it doesn't matter. You've helped me confirm that Molam has something different about him; that's all I needed to know. Thank you, Cholani."
"I'm happy to have been of service." Cholani stood up and bowed. "Good night, Mursa. Thank you for the praise!"
"And I'll turn a blind eye to you pilfering from my desserts."
Cholani froze, then smiled widely. "I'm quite sure you bought those for me."
"Only after a job well done, not before. Bah. Go get some rest, now. Mursa has spoken."
After Cholani sauntered off to their wagon, Mursa Shang poured himself some tea, sipping at it quietly. Jyuni sat down opposite him, her expression serious.
"Is Cholani's observation enough to say Molam can utilize spirits?" she asked.
"I don't know," Mursa Shang answered honestly. "None of the inherited memories have any inkling about spirit usage. All we know is: Molam didn't lie when I questioned him about it, he was willing to accept the contracted obligation to help cleanse Mur of DuskWing's influence, and… Cholani's description just now."
"Burnt," Jyuni echoed. "Like a bonfire compared to a flame."
"Mmhmm," Mursa Shang drummed his fingers across his knee, contemplating. "I'll have to test him myself, I think."
"You will force him?" asked Jyuni, surprised.
"No. We can, but we should not force his hand; that much I've learned." He continued drumming his fingers, thinking deeply. There seemed to be no choice. "As much as I hate it, I'll probably need to take a calculated loss so he believes he's gaining at my expense."
"That's… very unlike you."
Mursa Shang laughed at his apprentice's careful choice of words. "Don't lose track of what matters when focusing on the small things. Do you remember what's at stake? What did Molam remind you to think about when you practiced negotiating with him?"
Jyuni's face stiffened, but she answered. "If Molam successfully passes Mursa Allyce's test and unifies the three caravans, to focus on which Mursa gains control after Molam leaves."
"I'm delighted you remember," Mursa Shang said. It was important that Jyuni remembered this lesson; she often focused too much on the small things and neglected the bigger matters. "Remember: our advantage against the other two Mursa is that we get to spend time with Molam on the way to Oasis. So take the time to get to know him, understand him, and learn as much you can about him, Jyuni. Pass that down to the rest as well. We're going to make sure that after all is said and done, Molam chooses to pass down the role of unifier to you or me, and not Mursa Khan or Mursa Allyce. Do you understand?"
Jyuni nodded, bowing her head.
"Good. Mursa has spoken."