Pulling out her travel water bowl, she dipped the intricate silver bowl into azure water. Her bowl had been handed down to her from her mother; it was a small thing, no larger than a teacup, which made it easy to travel with. The milky walls were carved with intricate designs of flora she had never seen. The silver was supposed to help clean the water from impurities, but she doubted the water would be in the cup long enough to do anything. Nikrin dipped in his own bowl made from an onyx black stone. Although his bowl looked simpler, it was made from a material much more expensive than hers. It showed his status as the prince’s advisor. Her bowl showed a much simpler means. Not only made from silver but also inherited. A fact which humbled her origins even more. Not that it mattered.

She took a sip of water, having to remind herself not to gulp down the contents of the bowl. The water was warm, long heated by the sun, but it brought almost an instant relief to her. The journey so far had been straining to her body. The heat an enemy not most could deal with. Many had lost their lives to the desert sun, but they moved with purpose. To finally steal her remaining autonomy, she thought. They covered themselves entirely and wore large hats for protection, with white cloth hanging to cover their faces even more. She had fully covered herself in the oil of the Drya tree, which had protective properties against the sun. A small magical ore worked to keep her body as cool as possible. The effect negligible after a few hours. Nikrin, too, carried only a tiny magic ore.

The soldiers filled buckets for the horses and then joined them as well. Their own cups were made of a myriad of metals, from bronze to silver. One even boasting a gold cup—a mostly useless metal, easily malleable, and without beneficial properties.

After what seemed like only a few moments, Nikrin cleared his throat. “We will travel to the finger canyons and make camp there.”

In no time, she was once again on horseback. The horse was as unpleased as she was to continue their journey. It would take another few hours for them to reach the canyons.

When they finally reached the arched entrance to the finger canyons, the sun had almost set. A crimson red bled through the rocky formations, which, like fingers erected from rocky ground, reached for the sky. Here, they could hide amongst the smaller fingers. The rocky pillars served as a shield against the elements.

If they were to be unlucky enough to catch a sandstorm, the terrain would help break up the wind and protect them from the sand. A sand which, during the storms, became akin to flying daggers.

They disembarked amongst a formation of fingers that mimicked the closing of a hand. The soldiers worked quickly to set up camp. There would be no comfort here. The tents simple canvas held up by two sticks. She could already imagine the sight of her by the end of the journey. The smell coming from her would be enough to put down an army of men, and the white clothing would be stained gray and brown.

One of the soldiers set up a magic ore as the center of their camp. The small sphere glowed with a faint white and levitated near the ground. She did not know much about the magic ores. But she knew a little. There were different types of ores, all of which contained Favor. Some cooled, some glowed, others warmed. If she wanted, just like from the sand, she could pull the Favor out of the ore leaving it useless. An ordinary stone just lying in the middle of the camp. What she would use this Favor for, she did not know. The art of Favor had been lost so far ago that only myths remained. She checked the small pouch hanging on her belt with her own small ore. Her ore was more so a shard. Even though minuscule in size, it was far from minuscule in price.

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They would eat dried fish, bread, cheese, and wine, all given by the Sahra women, her own food separated from the rest. Then they would sleep, waking up at the break of dawn to continue.

Sitting against the cool rock, she looked up at a sky brightly lit by stars. Crawling into the small tent was not her intention. Instead, she chose to lean against the stone and rest her eyes for a bit.

A loud gasp had woken her from a dreamless slumber. In a hazy state, it took her a while to orient herself. It was dark… It was not supposed to be dark. A panic began to rise from the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it back. Not know, she told herself. Her eyes tried to adjust to a darkness only lit by the stars above. She could hear movement. There was a shadow dashing among shadows.

Then, with a loud roar like the sound of raging wind, a red light appeared in Nikirins hand. Another ore. Nikrin threw the ore down, the red dauntingly illuminating their camp. They had been surrounded by figures dressed in black, with faces fully covered. Nikrin held a sword at the ready. The slumped bodies of their comrades lay around the camp. There was no blood, or maybe the red light made it hard to see.

The panic rose once again. You have to be in control, she almost shouted at herself. There had to be a way out; they would not make it out if she allowed herself to panic.

“Valeha,” he shouted and carefully moved towards her. He did not look away from the group for a moment. The figures followed, closing in around them.

She looked around, trying to figure out what they could do. At one end, they were closed off by a stone wall, and on the other, she glanced at the assassins. Their numbers alone overpowered them.

“Listen closely, Valeha,” Nikrin said. I will get you some time, and in a moment, I will attack. You have to find a way out of here.”

“Nikrin, but-“ she wanted to protest. How could she leave them here and flee?

“No, Valeha. You must make it to the prince. My time has long passed in this world. I have lived a life far too long and far too sinful.”

He reached to his neck and snapped something off with one hand before throwing it back to her. Kalina stumbled but caught the object. Realizing that it was a ring. The family sigil. “Nikrin-“ she started to say but was interrupted by a yell from the large man.

“For Aedon,” Nikrin yelled and ran at the group.

It was almost instantaneous. Metal clashed with metal. A loud sound that echoed around the canyon.

An opening appeared, and she ran, her eyes dashing around the camp, scanning and looking for something. Finally, she landed on the horses and made a dash to them. Grabbing onto the reins, she slapped the steed. “Come on, boy, we need to run,” she tried not to shout the words.

The horse started a gallop as she hung off the side, the rein wrapped around her arm to support her position. There had been no time to get up and adjust. She shifted her body.

The sounds of grunts and shouting came from behind. A relief almost filled her as she started to haul herself up the running horse.

“Not so fast, Valeha,” a voice whispered as if from inside her mind. Suddenly the horse fell, she was thrown violently, the reign still wrapped around her arm.

Hot red pain filled her body as she hit the ground, momentarily jerked by the giant beast. Her arm was twisted at a natural angle, causing her to swallow down a scream. It hurts, it hurts, I’m going to die. Biting down on her lip, she tried to make sense of what was happening. There was no use in panicking, not now. She had to think, she had-.

There was a pounding at her head, and with her free arm, she reached to check the area she had hit. Something warm and sticky coated her fingers. Blood, she thought. Her situation was dire.

What had happened? Nothing had been shot at them, and no one was around. There was no one around. She fought against the blurring of her vision as the pounding pain in her head got worse. Carefully freeing her other arm from the reins, she tried to move it, but a sharp pain stopped her. It was a familiar feeling which brought a wave of relief to her. It wasn’t broken, just disconnected. Something that could be easily fixed later. Now, she bit her lip harder, drawing blood. Her vision going black.

What happened next was out of her hands.