Syme spent the next few days traveling between the school and the new outpost. Until Bean finds something, it'll be the only consistent source of water they'll have, so they'll have to fortify it. Walls were being built using bricks made from a sand-clay mixture from the area near the well. They had a few art students who helped with the molding and even a few apprentice carpenter's, a rare sight at _, where the majority of students chose academia. Thanks to them, however, the walls actually stood straight.

More than a few times he eyed Saul stalking around, a horrified look on his face, but he stormed off whenever they made eye contact.

Of course, there were casualties on their side, and some of those were deaths. Syme knew he had to tread carefully. He spent many nights carefully planning the funerals—lavish enough so that their loved ones were satisfied, but not so lavish that it taxed their resources too much. And of course, Syme was always there, always the sponsor, always ready to say a speech with as much sadness as he could emulate.

The only problem was that he couldn't force himself to cry. Eventually, after much convincing, he got Cily to punch him really hard in the stomach. That did it.

He was still being watched, however, by someone more and more convinced that Syme was lying.

Speaking of Cily, she could understand most things now, given context and body language to go with it. It was progress. She would be very useful later, when they advanced to the second stage, after he had consolidated their power and could bargain with the Chieftan. Syme smirked, his heart beating faster with exhilaration. And they would grow stronger, encroach more land, gain more power, more hatred, and then even the great Chieftan would be forced to kneel in front of Syme.

It would take time, though. He had to take it slow. 

Bean met with him a few days later, bringing with him a copy of a rough map some students had drawn dotted with X's. "They're the places where there is likely underground aquifers within 50 to 100 meters of the surface," he explained.

"Really? That many?" Syme said, surprised. There were at least 30 Xs on the map. "How do you know?"

"Difference in electrical resistance between areas. I'd read about the UN using it in developing nations. Sorry, I used up quite a bit of electricity," Bean said sheepishly.

"No, no, you did well. Have a well deserved rest. I'll manage the rest," Syme said.

This was critical. It must be kept with as much secrecy as possible. He folded it up and kept it in an inner pocket hidden inside a pant leg.

There were now two main areas of development. Domestic—to which the effort was mostly spent creating more elaborate systems to transfer water and finding some way to farm—and foreign—to which the object was finding Oakly.

The council, Eran, Sue, Nime, and Saul, naturally led domestic developments. Syme focused on his military.

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Finding Oakly proved to be difficult. Syme knew it had to be close, but even after diligently cross referencing testimony from the rescued Oakly students with the crude maps they had he still had no idea where it was. He started to train specialized scouts, the fastest runners at the school, to learn to run in the shifting sands. They were armed with nothing but pen and paper. No fighting allowed, just running and cartography.

Their maps grew more and more detailed, extending roughly a 10 miles out in each direction from the school. Several scouts had reported sightings of Imps, but nothing conclusive came of it.

Finally, they had a lucky break. A small group of Imps were spotted headed towards the conquered outpost, ignorant of its destructions. Syme immediately ordered for them to be surrounded and captured. 

He'd have Cily translate. It would be her first test as to whether she was bilingual enough to be useful.

Their prisoners were tied to a stake. They were bloodied and looked dazed.

"Cily, ask them if they'll do what we say."

Cily thought for a moment, then spoke some words. The Imps responded. "They... ask me, why with Favored," she said to Syme.

"Ignore that," Syme said, shaking his head. "Tell them that if they don't tell us what we need to know, we'll kill them." 

The Imps croaked something out, then spat on the ground.

"Favored weak, can't kill," Cily translated.

"Favored?" someone asked. 

"That's what they call humans," Syme answered. "Seems they're as stubborn as ever," he muttered, turning to the defiant prisoners.

He sighed, then grabbed a spear out of a startled student's hands and stabbed it through one of the Imps arms, causing it to cry out. Many of the students around him winced, but didn't say anything. "Ask him again, Cily."

She said more, then shook her head at Syme. He ripped the spear out of the Imps arm, then stabbed it through its neck, warm blood gushing onto the other captured Imps. It thrashed for a bit, then went limp.

"Hey," one of the students said nervously, "uh, isn't this a little...?"

"A little what?" Syme replied with genuine curiosity.

"Er, never mind," the student sheepishly replied.

"Cily, ask them again."

This time, the Imps, clearly shocked, took a while to respond. Cily nodded at Syme.

"Good, good. Ask them if they know any big, square buildings with a lot of Favored in it."

"Favored building, one close, uh, northeast."

"Are there any Favored still in it?"

"Favored still there, walls very hard, almost through."

"I see," Syme said, thinking. "We'll need to mobilize immediately, then. Come on Cily, let's go."

"Uh, what about the, er, Imps here?" someone asked.

"Keep them tied up for now, I'll figure something out later," Syme said.