The lengthy journey across the northern section of the steppe could be, at certain times of year, truly challenging. The land here, though seemingly flat, rolls slowly but steadily. The resulting folds make it difficult to coordinate scouting and easy for the Kharal clans to organize ambushes. The Nikkad settlements in this region are few and small, primarily a collection of lonely oasis towns struggling to survive while hidden behind high walls and paying off the khagan with whatever tribute they can manage to assemble. This far north, with the shortened summer season, crops have limited time to grow and failures are common. Except in narrow fertile spaces clinging to the rivers, the population is widely dispersed. If lucky, or perhaps unlucky if contact is the goal, a traveler can walk for days without seeing another human. Trade activity upon this route is modest, especially during the late spring period when the expedition pushed north. This was compounded by the ongoing conflict between the khanates, as those who did go north mostly took trails placed significantly further west. Few others were encountered, and on the majority of days the only sign of human life was white yurts in the distance.

Despite this, the coming of spring brought great changes to the northern steppe. It was a time of frenzied peace, a world seizing the renewal of the season. The arrival of green shoots brought forth a storm of planting and calving as the entire steppe shook free of the grip of the winter and embraced the moment of growth. Even hunters with neither crops nor herds to tend rejoiced at the arrival of huge flocks of birds, including quite spectacular aggregations of cranes on the shallow lakes formed by melting snow flooding the low places. Bird flesh, for cranes are large animals with much good meat upon them, serves as a critical foodstuff during this period, though the Kharal have rules regarding who can hunt the great loud flocks and when the arrows may fly in order to sustain the numbers of these hugely important birds. Work filled all the days of everyone, for no hour of light could be wasted in the rush to get crops planted, herds to pasture, and the first fruits of the year into bellies and cookpots. Trade too, though slightly delayed, slowly resumed as caravans judged the threat of blizzards removed and began their annual travel circuits once more.

During such times, the Kharal, Nikkad, and Bahab all refrain from violence in favor of the essential work of sustenance. Even bandits shift their actions, directing their effort towards poaching and cattle rustling rather than attacks on humans. A stolen colt or lamb is not only capable of filling the pot, but if kept throughout the summer can grow off grass and scrub to be sold back at a profit in the fall. Such combats as do occur are largely traceable to the Sunfire Cult or the Obsidian Order, with the former dominant further south and the latter of great importance in the north. Such attacks remain rare, however, for the traders have learned to anticipate them. They hold themselves back, allowing their mercenary guards to rampage through the wild and hunt down such rogue elements in the hope of clearing the path. Khagans and princes alike encourage such actions. Such is the price paid by groups that place themselves in opposition to all civilization.

A notable curiosity of the brief spring is that the steppe, normally very dry, becomes wet. Meltwater is the largest contributor to this, as snow and ice become water and flood streams, gorges, and rivers. Added to this source is the spring rains, one half of the brief tandem rainy periods that darken the skies over Shdustu twice each year. In the spring the ground, with the grass short and herbs barely sprouted, cannot absorb the brief but potent deluge and water flows off swiftly to pool in marshes, ditches, and any other low point. Cart tracks represent just such a low point, for even a handspan of depth may be enough to gather water on otherwise perfectly flat ground, and they become wretched snakes of mud winding their paths across the land. Master Lam's forbiddance of carts revealed its wisdom at this time, and the Dragon Expedition departed into this much soaked moment unhindered by such difficulties. Camels, by virtue of their wide feet, navigate muddy ground with ease, though little happiness. Horses do well if not overburdened by loads and guided around points of danger with care. The traveler's boots become thoroughly caked with mud and toes spend most the day damp and cold but can be restored to dryness during the cool nights so long as camp is made at a high point.

I confess I did not enjoy marching with squelching feet joining every step for many days. The mud precluded any search for fossils or other fragments and rendered the landscape a depressing shade of brown with little variation to commend it. Though there were new birds and reeds of some interest to be seen, even these quickly grew repetitive. Nor did this region feature any rumor of new mystic creatures, having long been well settled. Instead, we were favored by spotting white tents and the fuzzy gray clusters that marked grazing herds of sheep. Kharal men kept watch as we passed, bows at the ready, but the only arrows launched were directed at hungry wolves and desperate foxes.

The resulting passage was perhaps the most uneventful interlude of the entire expedition. Misery, it seemed, served as an antidote to excitement. In the absence of distraction, all were forced to embrace daily tasks, for the muddy ground imposed numerous burdens all its own. Horses, despite our best efforts to lead them, did at times founder and require assistance to escape. Dung, scarce in many places or drenched to uselessness by water in others, took longer to gather. Each night it was necessary to string long lines between raised stakes to dry clothes and blankets. Worse, bodies used to the comparatively easy life of the city where the only hardship was cold and long workdays were forced to adjust once more to the lengthy days of marching and eating on the move. The poor palatability of travel rations, the countless aches and pains attached to sleeping on uneven ground, and the misery of being unable to go inside during the rain all asserted themselves once more. My many journeys during the winter had left me inured to this circumstance, but even I found pressing forward in accordance with Erun's demanding pace wearying. Loudest complaints came from the newly hired mercenaries, who had not expected such long days of effort.

Little aid was to be acquired from the Kharal in these matters. With their winter stores almost gone and survival in the year to come dependent upon the results of critical spring efforts to secure new head for their herds, they ushered us on past each circle of yurts. Hospitality was not to be shared save at great need. Our own wounded, and these men accumulated a lengthy list of sprains, minor breaks, and skin ulcers, received no outside assistance. Thankfully, our healers remained among the most selfless persons I have ever encountered and gave their utmost to preserve the expedition's northern motion.

Erun's desire to utilize every hour, every minute, of light on the march wore some of the men, especially the newly recruited, ill. Rare was the merchant captain who dared push so hard even during days on the move, and a trade caravan would inevitably stop with some regularity at large Kharal encampments or oasis towns, offering numerous days of rest to the escorts. Our commander stopped for nothing, determined to reach Dumumshtu in under a month.

This he achieved, a feat that astounded the Prince of Dumumshtu upon our arrival, but the price paid in morale was heavy indeed. The thugs of the Iron Bells chafed especially hard at the pace, leading to drunken brawls, an assault upon one of the newly hired prostitutes, and on the twenty-fifth day a completely unacceptable insult directed at the Princess Romou's virtue that it would be a crime even to record. The mercenary, who was a Bahab outcast with even less respect for the Divines than their typical heresy inspires, did not understand the consequences of speaking to a sanctified priestess of the Divines and one of the Imperial House in such a manner. Otherwise, I suspect that even deep in his cups on the foul dregs of wine the men had managed to scavenge he would not have dared such an openly suicidal statement.

Ignorance, of course, is not a shield, though I cannot help but feel partially responsible. Erun tasked me, as the only speaker of Bahab among us, to instruct all those hired in the spring regarding essential matters of decorum within the expedition. Perhaps I was not properly understood, or my words were insufficiently complete and convincing on the subject with regard to where respect was demanded, always. I cannot recall the precise error, if there was one, but I do feel insufficient. Despite this, I do not mourn the mercenary, for he was a foul, unclean, brute of a man. It is only the injury that his execution inflicted upon camaraderie that gives regret. Yomat conducted the punishment cleanly and without hesitation, fulfilling his inspectorate duties without needing to claim the title. It was done summarily; he simply walked up behind the mercenary and sliced his throat open with a single smooth motion of his dagger. A gruesome measure, but such is the nature of royal prerogatives. It is not even a Sanid matter, an insult to the daughter of a khagan or prince would be met with similar, or likely significantly less swift, elimination. The Princess, truly one wholly committed to the service of the Divines, nevertheless conducted the funeral service of this fool who had so grievously defamed her. Such dedication is a rare thing and those among the expedition of Sairn origin respected her all the more for it.

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Truly, the return to the march separated out the committed from the merely avaricious. This, though it sorted out internal lines, also created fragmentation and division. Those who wished to pursue the dragon until no hope of success remained began to split apart from those who simply wished to benefit from the emperor's generosity. Many among the latter had begun to consider admitting defeat and turning home in the hopes of leaving the hardships of the road behind. In truth, the lines were not especially stark at this point. Burdened by the imperial charge and the expectations imposed by his uncle's high office, Erun had to advance until he could report at least some measure of success, otherwise it would be better for his legacy to never return to Crisremon. He needed to obtain at least some evidence of the dragon's passage. Another scale, a drop of blood, or any other physical fragment that he might present to the court upon his return was absolutely necessary to avoid not only a posting to some remote border garrison for the remainder of his days, but potentially grave punishment for wasting the empire's funds. I do not think, having realized how difficult travel was throughout the steppe, that he retained any thoughts of attempting to capture or kill the dragon, but finding its lair and perhaps even wounding it by crossbow remained dreams within his vision. Such a measured achievement would allow a turnabout with success retained. The pace he demanded came, in part, from awareness that the longer it took to return, the more the politics of court might shift. While a scholar's knowledge, learned in faraway lands, might well be welcomed many years later, the rewards tied to political favor remained dependent upon the emperor and his clan retaining positions of the highest power. As it happened, Erun's beliefs in this regard were entirely correct. Only a truly incredible pace of travel would have allowed for a return to Crisremon prior to the passing of Husun the Fifth. In truth, by this point such a fate was likely already inevitable.

Yomat, of course, sided with our commander. More than perhaps even Erun himself, the inspector was aligned with the success of the expedition. Loyal to the empire above all, he desired that it should prove itself in finding the dragon, a conviction I believe grew as he realized that all of Shdustu's local powers had failed in the effort, thereby increasing the available prestige. Princess Romou, also, supported the mission, as she considered the chance to view a dragon with her own eyes a holy quest. For myself, though I regarded success as a somewhat forlorn prospect, though brief conversations with Kharal hunters in passing hinted that the dragon had been seen on the wing several times over the course of the winter and therefore remained possible to locate, I was very much eager to continue exploring and mapping Shdustu. This work was important and could improve trade. Further, insofar as I considered my prospects as a scholar, the expedition obviously represented the most significant opportunity with which I would ever be presented. As such, I had no reason to hesitate or lag behind.

Instead, it would be Tomad, the purser, who became the voice of hesitation and doubt among the officers. He was not unreasonable in his concerns and was careful to avoid presenting any open dissent in front of others, but at the time it quickly became rather easy to discern his steady discontent. In truth, this was to be expected. His assignment to the expedition was, more than perhaps any other, politically motivated. Though his clan no doubt hoped the expedition would fail in order to embarrass their rivals of the Nassah clan, his presence served as insurance that, in the unlikely case of grand success, the Murad clan could claim some contribution. Tomad's personal advancement options had never been considered and were, regrettably, rather limited. His only real chance to acquire glory relied upon returning with great riches, and the further the expedition penetrated into Shdustu the less likely this became. I believe that the wealth recovered from the tombs of the wizard-kings, a resource that had been largely used up supplying and supporting the expedition rather than in trade, weighed heavily upon him. Even considering expenses, it is likely that, had the expedition turned back and departed at a more typical time in spring, proper management could have preserved a considerable sum all the way back to Crisremon. For one who considered the prospect of locating the dragon poor at best, expending wealth in this way must have been like being forced to watch someone else gamble with one's own money.

The most prominent voice joining this chorus of complaint belonged to Olond, the Master Apothecary. The old scholar had spent the winter lounging, peddling exotic cures and herbal infusions to great personal profit. Rarely leaving his laboratory or apartments throughout the winter, he had put on weight and the return to the road saw him struggle with severe foot pain. The rare reagents recovered from the tombs, though of little value to the Bahab, stood at many times the value of rubies in his hands, and his study of them had already advanced his craft. Unlike others in the company, his return would be, as viewed by fellow apothecaries who represented the only opinion that mattered to his sight, an unqualified success. Forced to turn away from such a prize, his grumbling grew constant.

Thankfully one of his apprentices, a young and willowy woman named Amanili, had spent the winter studying poison lore under a Nikkad alchemist. During this process she seemed to have moved significantly towards a much more Nikkad attitude regarding the role of women in society. As the northward journey resumed, she spent progressively less time with her master every day until she eventually abandoned his tent entirely and joined that of Rubuya and the other two lady warriors. She began to join myself and Lady Indili during the day, walking beyond the straight line of march to search for rare herbs and poisonous animals. The spring flooding on the steppe induced a number of strange frogs and toads to spawn that she found valuable, drying them within bags of powder and then grinding them up to produce medicine.

Lord Udrand, the master lightning sorcerer, displayed his own hesitancy towards travel north. Of all those who balked, I consider his resistance to be the most justified. He was a man of late middle age, at a guess at least fifty years, and significantly older than any other participant. Nor was he of strong build, having spent most of his life indoors in study. During the winter he contracted consumption and spent nearly two whole months bedridden. Though the careful attention of the healers preserved his health and in time quieted the disease, he did not recover swiftly nor did his mood fare well given the near total isolation imposed upon him by medical order. The prospect of spending another winter in Shdustu's bitter cold made the possibility of recurrence, and potentially death, a distinct one. As almost any northward progress made such a sojourn inevitable, for it would be very difficult to return south in time to manage the desert crossing, and he was a man more than capable of doing the sums on his calendar, his discontent was well-founded. He did not voice any complaints, but instead grew more and more withdrawn, depriving the expedition of his counsel and support, a critical loss as his age and ability were both respected and feared.

Despite such challenges all of the grumbling was, at this time, limited to the verbal realm. The members of the imperial guard, ever loyal and valiant, remained firmly behind Erun and his decision to push hard. With the simple logic common to soldiers they reasoned that greater effort now would mean more time to relax later. Somewhat specious, that belief, but their hearty exertions served to, if not inspire, at least shame others out of their blankets and onto the trail.

For the most part the steppe accommodated the expedition's efforts. There were no terrible floods or killing late frosts that year and though several smaller rivers demanded bitter fording actions that left everyone shivering at the edge of smoky dung fires as they shook and danced in the hope of restoring feeling to their limbs, all managed the journey in reasonable health. Fatigue and weariness, with all the exasperation they engender, represented a minor price to pay for a month spent crossing the steppe. Shdustu is rarely so kind. In truth, the short spring was a generous one, demanding nothing beyond labor and muddy discomfort. A distinctly mild challenge compared to what awaited in the mountains.