VI

The air was filled with the sound of prayers repeated tirelessly by dozens of throats in a low, monotonous chorus.

The devotees gave thanks to their dark master in a guttural, mystical-sounding language that no human mouth should have been able to reproduce[1]. The high priest Jaro presided over the ceremony as part of his duties to the cult. He made sure that any spark of fervour from this melody was directed to their lord of Oblivion. Like a conductor, he raised his arms while reciting the verses of this unholy song, giving the tone and the measure to the adepts kneeling in front of him in the great funeral chamber.

They had set up their cult in an ancient crypt forgotten by all. The rocky foothills to the south-east of Rimmen were home to many of these ancient tombs and dusty vaults, a trace and legacy of a distant past, a time when Khajiit kingdoms and tribes warred for dominance of Elsweyr[2]. There were many heroes buried under these sands and stones; chiefs and mothers of clans, powerful mages, entire families of noblemen and great warriors. Over time, their names had been forgotten and no one remembered who was buried there. It had been centuries since anyone had paid tribute to them.

To which illustrious family did the tomb where they now recited their blasphemous prayers belong? Jaro did not know and did not care. The entrance to the tomb had been smashed, its mortuary alcoves emptied of their remains, the altars overturned and their possessions looted by the devotees as they became the new masters of the place. Respect for the dead was the least of their worries and this crypt, which had fallen into oblivion, was an ideal place to hide.

The thick walls echoed the prayers and the high priest could feel the eerie melody vibrating in his bones and sending him into a feverish trance. Presiding over the litanies of his brothers was incredibly exhilarating, but his mind was too preoccupied at the moment to indulge it fully. Making sure the devotees kept up with their devotions one last time, he finally left the old burial chamber and went to one of the adjoining tombs that served as his private quarters. Once inside, he dropped into a chair and sighed.

He had not heard from the capital for several days now and feared that Brother Dronos had been captured or killed. Rimmen was only a day's ride away and the dark elf should have returned by now. Priest Jaro began to gnaw at his thumb claw as he brooded over his concerns, aware that his daedric master might also be getting impatient. If the dunmer had failed, he would have to send someone else to the capital for information. Perhaps he should go there himself. He was beginning to come to terms with this idea when a voice from the shadows startled him.

- "High priest. I am back."

Jaro had not heard or sensed it coming despite his heightened khajiit senses. Brother Dronos deserved his reputation as a skilled assassin and spy. The latter stood in the doorway, one knee on the ground and his face hidden under his hood. It was almost like a shadow that had suddenly come to life.

- "Brother Dronos..." the black priest said after recovering from his surprise. "Took you long enough."

- "I know... I had to stay longer than expected to confirm some things I heard in Rimmen."

- "What do you mean? What did you hear in the capital?"

The assassin stood up and approached the high priest, who could see his eyes red as the embers of a dying fire.

- "There is a rumour in town that Princess Shazira is dead. "

- "Dead?", Jaro said in a puzzled tone. "What does that mean?"

- "The inhabitants speak of an assassination attempt by a rival khan that went wrong. Razirr'Ri's own son is said to have been injured in the process."

- "A rival khan... What nonsense is this? Did your brother inadvertently kill our prey?"

- "Impossible. Rilos would never disobey an order."

- "Have you seen the body of the princess?"

- "No, high priest. I did try to infiltrate the royal palace but the guard seems to have been reinforced, no doubt as a result of this incident."

The khajiit remained silent for a moment, staring at the dunmer, his eyebrows furrowed. Eventually he broke the silence in a suspicious and thoughtful voice.

- "What a curious story," he said. "Unless... what tricks is old Razirr up to? "

- "I don't know, High Priest, but I'm sure my brother would never have killed the princess if he hadn't been ordered to. " He continued after a brief hesitation. "Perhaps we could ask the dreamer for help?"

- "Perhaps, yes... his mind is strong and he is not easily dominated. But with a little prodding, I should be able to get some information out of him to get to the bottom of this story."

The high priest rose from his chair before extending an arm towards the dark elf in an imperious gesture.

- "Go warn our brothers," he ordered. "Let them prepare the ritual."

*  *  *  *  *

Like every day since the caravan's departure, the sky was empty of clouds and the sun was scorching the desert sand. Stunned and crushed by the monotonous heat, the caravans and wagons nevertheless continued their slow progress. They followed the route of an old paved road that was barely visible and that only the frequent passage of caravans and convoys prevented from being completely sanded up. It was now a week since the group of merchants, guards and mercenaries had left Rimmen with their precious cargo.

The sun's rays continued to bite into Alberic's skin as he sweated profusely in his uniform. The leather of his armour was burning and he had been tempted to remove it several times, but each time Captain Flavia had dissuaded him with scathing remarks.

- "Do you think you'll have time to put it back on if we're attacked? " she said every time.

So the young Breton had given up trying to remove it. He had taken his cue from the Khajiit caravaneers and wrapped large shawls over his chest to prevent the sun from hitting the leather of his armour directly. He was surprised to find that the extra clothing did not make him any hotter, and in fact helped to make the desert heat more bearable.

They had left the capital one Turdas of Heartfire[3] and since then, the days had followed each other with the same monotonous and boring slowness. Unlike the northern desert of Elsweyr, the southern desert seemed calmer and more peaceful. They had not suffered a single attack, either from wild animals or bandits. The guards and mercenaries remained vigilant, however, and groups of terror birds or prides of lions and lionesses could sometimes be seen in the distance. As for the brigands, bandits and cutthroats, it was not surprising that they were absent so far into the desert. One of the camel drivers had reassured Alberic that only madmen or caravanners ventured deep into the desert. It was not difficult to understand why, for water was scarce and the few wells they came across along the way were mostly dry.

Although no major incidents had occurred, the young mercenary was not at ease. Flavia was still as intransigent towards him and, above all, Princess Shazira never missed an opportunity to tease or provoke him. The young khajiit took advantage of her rare moments in the open air to swirl around him like a fly around an open honey pot. She was seriously getting on his nerves, but the constant supervision of Captain Flavia forced him to keep his composure every time.

In truth, Shazira was very curious about Alberic. A recluse since she was very young, she had never had the opportunity to make any real friends. The young breton seemed to be the same age as her and she could smell a curious scent of fresh grass and tree bark on him with her keen feline senses. His accent, like that of all foreigners in fact, made her even more curious about his origins. Cloistered in her flats, she spent a lot of time reading and it was, for her, the only way to discover the world beyond the capital's walls. But reading and seeing the real thing were two very different things, and her curiosity was heightened. She just didn't know how to deal with Alberic and he seemed to avoid her as much as possible, obviously still resentful of her after their first chance meeting. She didn't understand why.

Her wagon suddenly stopped and a growing commotion took hold of the convoy as the Khajiit caravanners exclaimed nervously and worriedly. Shazira drew aside the curtain to look through the small window to see what was causing such a flurry of activity, but she couldn't make out anything. She did see, however, that Captain Flavia was moving up the column at a run.

At the head of the convoy, Captain Tasarr'Do and the master of the caravaneers, an old, tabby-furred khajiit named Benazarr, were talking and staring at the horizon.

- "What's going on?" the mercenary inquired as she reached them.

In response, the old khajiit pointed to the sand dunes in the distance. Flavia could see dark, low-lying clouds approaching them at an alarming speed.

- "A sandstorm," Tasarr growled.

- "Can we avoid it?"

- "No, stranger," replied the caravan master. "We'll have to ride through it. Benazarr hopes it will be weak and brief. "

- "And if it isn't?" insisted Flavia.

The convoy master squinted as he stared at the threatening clouds.

- "Then we will have to endure it, and may Alkosh watch over us."

*  *  *  *  *

Flavia had already faced many dangers in her life. When she was a legionnaire, she had fought bandits, Colovian rebels, giant spider nests, goblins... but this was the first time she had to face a sandstorm. It was as if a giant god was blowing on you with all the force of his lungs. Each step required a considerable effort as the wind buffeted you. Capes and clothes whipped and slapped the air with violence. But the worst part was the sand.

She remembered how Alberic had railed against the sand and dust on their first journey. Now it was everywhere, like a swarm of tiny, angry wasps. It lodged itself in the smallest folds, scratching the skin and burning the eyes. But what worried Flavia most was the way it masked the surroundings. The swirling sand formed a thick veil that made figures blurred and difficult to see. The howling of the wind also contributed to her disorientation and she could only hear her own heartbeat. It would be too dangerous to continue in these conditions.

She managed to catch up with the figure of Captain Tasarr'Do and put a hand on his shoulder. The khajiit stopped walking and turned in her direction, his eyes barely visible under his turban.

- "We can't go on like this!" Flavia had to shout to be heard. "We're going to get lost if we keep going at random! Let's regroup and take shelter until the storm passes!"

The captain nodded in agreement and raised a hand while freeing his muzzle from under his turban.

- "Halt!!! Stop the caravan!!!" he shouted. "Gather the wagons and make a circle!!!"

It took some time for these orders to reach all the members of the convoy but slowly the carts and wagons regrouped while the caravanners and guards protected themselves behind their masses. It was a meagre and ineffective shelter, but at least no one was in danger of getting lost in the raging elements.

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Clutching her cloak, the captain looked around for her men. She could make out the tall figure of Gunnar, whose beard fluttered in the wind like a banner. Master Imril was wrapped in heavy blankets inside his cart. As for Alberic, he was hiding behind a wagon with other caravanners who were huddling together to protect themselves from the sand. Flavia was relieved that they were there and not outside the circle now formed by the caravan.

The confused form of Tasarr joined her, shielding his face with one hand.

- "Is everyone here?" she asked.

- "Two wagons are missing!" the khajiit replied with a worried gleam in his eye. "Including our protege's!"

- "Damn it," Flavia snarled.

She squinted as she watched the storm raging beyond the circle. Moving away from their shelter was dangerous... but they had no choice.

- "Gather your men! We must find them!"

*  *  *  *  *

The elements were raging outside and Princess Shazira could feel the furious winds pounding against the wooden panels of her caravan. Sand was blowing in by handfuls through the skylights to form small piles on the floor and cushions. She had tried to block them with the curtains, but the fury of the storm had made it impossible. The young khajiit had resigned herself to sitting in the corner of her shelter, protecting her face with silk scarves. She was completely unaware that her cariole had strayed from the group and was now lost in the storm.

Her coachman was one of the Khajiit guards under the command of Captain Tasarr. He had tried, as best he could, to keep up with the rest of the convoy, but the blistering, sand-laden winds had left him almost blind and he had strayed off the road without even noticing. The rest of the caravan could have been ten or a hundred yards away and the result would have been the same. The storm prevented him from seeing or hearing anything except the neighing of the horse which he was steering with great difficulty. The guard eventually dismounted to guide it by the bridle, but even so, moving it forward was an arduous task.

Suddenly the animal reared up violently with a neigh of terror. Its hooves shot through the air and threw the coachman to the ground. The guard shook his head to regain his composure. He then understood what had caused the horse to panic.

The sand near the wagon rippled strangely, as if a sleeping body were stirring under blankets. The next moment the dune burst into a geyser of sand as a creature emerged. Like a crocodile, its figure was long and short-legged. Its body was covered in scales and red bony plates protruded from its back while a long reptilian tail trailed behind it. Its long snout was like a sharp beak and its yellow eyes glared murderously at the panicked horse. Still strapped to the wagon, the horse could not escape and the dune ripper grabbed one of its legs between his jaws before pulling it with all its strength. The animal whinnied in panic and pain as it tried to keep its balance, but a second creature emerged from the nearest dune to grab another of its legs.

The guard, still on the ground, drew his long scimitar to come to the aid of the wounded horse, but he did not even have time to get up. Behind him, the sand exploded in a new geyser and a third ripper appeared. Its beak closed violently across the chest of the khajiit. The guard tried to break its grip with sword blows, but the bony plates covering its upper body were as strong as armour. The creature pulled on the guard's body and dragged him under the sand. The last thing he saw before he was buried alive in the desert was an evil yellow eye glaring at him. It was the look of an hungry predator.

The horse was still struggling not to suffer the same fate, but his strength failed him and he fell heavily to the ground. He did so with such force that he dragged the wagon with him and it toppled over on its side with a loud crash. Moments later, the horse's terrified whinnies were muffled by the sand as the rippers dragged him to his death.

Inside the wagon, Shazira was shaken in all directions, along with the cushions and fruit trays. She swore as she stood up, her back arched now that the trailer was overturned. She had heard neighing and shouting but now could only hear the howling wind of the storm. She reached the door of the wagon and pushed it open. Luckily for her, it had fallen on the right side, otherwise the door would have been jammed against the ground.

The princess poked her head out of the cabin and was greeted by the raging elements. She hesitated to go back inside but the sand was now pouring heavily into the caravan and threatened to bury her if she stayed. She climbed out of her shelter to look around but could not make out anything in the midst of the turmoil. She noticed with concern that the horse and the guard had disappeared. What happened? No sooner had she set foot on the ground than the answer literally leapt out at her.

The nearest dune exploded and the figure of a Ripper appeared to glare at her. The beast hissed as it approached the young khajiit, decided to make her its next meal. With a cry of panic, Shazira backed up hastily and caught her paws in one of the wheels of the overturned wagon. She fell on the sand, and this saved her life, for at the same moment the Ripper had pounced on her. Its sharp beak slammed violently into the air before it moved again into position. The princess fell back to the ground, unable to look away from the predator. The creature hissed again as it moved slowly closer, determined not to miss its next attack. Shazira's back hits the wood of the trailer. She could not run away any more.

The beast was about to attack when, with a furious scream, a figure emerged from the storm to throw itself between her and the khajiit. Surprised by this newcomer, the ripper hurriedly stepped back before hissing again. But it took more than that to dissuade his opponent, who lunged at him with his sword. The steel bounced off the creature's bone plates and it stepped back a little more before the fury of such an assault. The beast tried to attack in turn with its sharp beak but its opponent dodged each time with a quick leap. It finally managed to knock him down by sweeping the ground with its long tail. Taking advantage of this opportunity, the ripper rushed forward to bite the neck of its prey, which rolled to the side at the last moment to avoid the assault before plunging the tip of its blade into the animal's side, just at the joint between the bony plates and its softer belly. The beast yelped in pain as it swiftly pulled away. It finally backed away, daring the one who had so violently wounded it to approach with a threatening hiss. The figure leapt to its feet and waved its sword, shouting at the creature.

That was all it took for the wounded ripper to turn on his heels and burrow under the sand to disappear. It had finally decided that the fight was not worth it.

Shazira was still shaking and panting after this unexpected intervention. She had watched, paralyzed, the furious fight between the creature and the turbaned figure. The young khajiit finally came to her senses when her saviour put a hand under her shoulder and forced her to her feet. He held her close to help her move forward through the storm, and she could smell something curious and familiar about him. A smell of fresh grass.

- "Come on, furball !" Alberic shouted to make himself heard. "We have to get to the others, and fast!"

*  *  *  *  *

The circle of carts offered a very basic shelter from the biting wind and gusts of sand, but it was better than nothing. The caravanners were busy protecting the goods by spreading tarps to close the carts. The horses and mules had been freed from their straps and herded into the centre of the circle, their heads wrapped in cloth to prevent them from panicking. Against all odds and despite their reputation, the khajiits seemed calm and disciplined in the midst of the turmoil. Clearly, this was not the first time they had weathered a sandstorm and experience now guided their every move.

Yet Flavia couldn't help but look nervously at the storms beyond the circle. With the news of the princess' disappearance, search parties had been quickly assembled. The guards under Captain Tasarr'Do had gone out in groups of two or three and Flavia had ordered Alberic and Gunnar to join the search. She had insisted that they not be separated under any circumstances.

It had been more than twenty minutes since she had sent them off and she was now watching for their return, her anxiety growing as time passed. Sometimes groups of guards came back to camp empty-handed and she feared she had been too hasty in her decision to send the boy and the Nord into the storm. Perhaps she should have go with them. Now it was too late to try to catch up with them.

Pulling her scarf tighter around her face, Flavia joined Captain Tasarr. He too was scanning the area around their makeshift camp, no doubt looking for signs of the missing people.

- "Still no news?!" she shouted to make herself heard.

- "Nothing yet! The few guards that have returned have found nothing!" The khajiit looked just as worried as Flavia.

- "Maybe we should send more people to look for them!" the mercenary offered.

- "It's too late now! It would be too dangerous to send anyone into this damn storm!"

Flavia stifled a curse between her tight lips. The Khajiit captain was right. Sending anyone out would be suicide now.

- "Where in Oblivion could they be?!" she growled.

* * * * *

Alberic kept cursing, each step requiring more effort than the last as he climbed up the dune. The strong winds threatened his balance and his boots sank deep into the sand. Huddled against him, Shazira tried to keep up with him, shielding herself behind his figure. She was not dressed for such a storm and she was blinded by all the sand that stung her eyes.

The young breton supported her as much as he could for fear that she would get lost. He and Gunnar had been ordered to find the missing caravanners. They had not left the camp for five minutes when he had been separated from the Nord by the raging elements. He had then tried to find him, but in vain. It was almost by chance that he had come across the princess, alerted and guided by the whinnying of a panicked horse. When he saw her, on the verge of being devoured by the Ripper, his warrior instinct had immediately taken over and he had interposed himself between her and the wild animal. As unbearable as Shazira was, she did not deserve to end up like that.

He had decided to abandon the shelter of the overturned trailer and leave as quickly as possible, fearing that other predators would show up. He was now beginning to regret his decision.

Walking blindly in the middle of this storm was just as dangerous and he had to face the truth... they were lost. With all the windblown sand, they could not see more than five meters ahead. Nor could they rely on their surroundings for direction as the dunes changed in size and shape as the storm raged.

- "Where are the others?!" the princess asked, still clutching against him.

- "I don't know! I can't see anything in this storm!"

They had been wandering around this sandy hell for many minutes without finding anything. Alberic had hoped to see a familiar shrub or rock formation that could guide him or at least shelter them... but there was nothing. They had to keep going or risk being buried alive under the sand.

- "This way!" shouted Alberic, pointing to the top of a nearby dune. "Maybe we'll see something up there!"

He didn't have much hope in truth, and when, after great effort, they reached the top, their situation was as hopeless as before. Wherever they looked, they always saw the same thing: sand, sand, sand and more sand. Yet they had to keep going.

- "Let's go down the dune, the camp shouldn't be far now," he said, more to reassure the princess than out of any real optimism.

He was about to take the first step when he suddenly lost his balance and fell to the ground, rolling down the dune. He never knew what he had stepped into and it didn't matter. Alberic could feel the sand creeping into his clothes as he rolled down the slope before finally stopping. Nothing was broken but he felt disorientated and dizzy and it took him some time to come to his senses. Shazira was gone. She had let go of him as he toppled over the top of the dune. With slow moves, he sat up on his knees before trying to stand up. But no matter how hard he tried, his legs refused to obey him, or rather... something prevented them from doing so. The young breton looked down and saw with horror that his calves, then his thighs, were slowly sinking into the sand. He had already heard about it from the other mercenaries during his crossing of the northern desert of Elsweyr.

Quicksands.

Panic took hold of him and he tried to pull himself out of the hole with his arms. But he had no grip, only sand which he frantically stirred under his fingers. Soon he was sucked up to his waist and he struggled harder to escape his fate. It was all in vain. Suddenly he felt something grab him by the arm and he looked up to see the princess holding him. She was pulling with all her might to prevent him from being swallowed up further.

For a moment he hoped she would be able to pull him out of this death trap. But the young khajiit was not strong enough, and her build too frail, to pull him out. At best she could keep him from sinking too quickly. When the sand reached his chest, he knew he was not going to make it.

- "Let me go," he shouted to Shazira. "No way we’re both going down !"

- "No!"

She was determined not to let go of his arm, and she held him so tightly that he felt her claws digging through the fabric of his sleeves and into his flesh. It was hopeless though. The sand had now reached his neck and he could barely move his arms.

- "For Mara’s sake[4], let go of my arm! "

- "Never!" she cried.

The young khajiit was slowly being sucked down after him and it wouldn't be long before she too was caught up in the quicksands. Alberic now had sand right under his nose and he took a last breath, aware that he was going to die choked by this damned desert.

Then he felt two new, much larger and stronger hands grabbing his wrists. They pulled on his arms with such force that he thought they would dislocate his shoulders. But despite the pain, Alberic grasped this unexpected help and felt his body being slowly pulled upwards. Soon his whole head was free, then his chest, waist and thighs. Finally, with a last effort, he was lifted onto the more stable sand of the dune. He was out of the woods.

Lying on the warm sand, the young Breton was trying to catch his breath when a stubby hand fell heavily on his shoulder. He looked up to see a long, shaggy beard with a broad smile.

- "We really can't leave you alone for two minutes, can we, kid?" Gunnar shouted and then burst out laughing so loudly that it drowned out the din of the storm for a moment.

*  *  *  *  *

By the time they reached the camp, the storm had subsided and the blue sky could be seen again. The giant Nord told the two teenagers that he had found them by pure chance and at just the right moment. Alberic was exhausted after this little adventure and Shazira was determined to support him in his walk. She had even refused to let Gunnar take her place when she started to tire.

Inside the circle of wagons, the caravaneers were already busy tidying up. They were clearing the sand and taking care of the horses and mules. The rescue teams had returned, too, and none of the guards sent by Captain Tasarr'Do were missing. It was almost a miracle that they had not been lost in the storm. Flavia was in the middle of a discussion with her Khajiit counterpart and old Benazarr when Gunnar and the others returned to camp.

- "What are the losses?" she asked.

- "We lost a wagon with its horse and the guard who ran it." Tasarr scratched his muzzle to remove the sand. "A cart, a mule and two caravaneers are also missing."

- "Should we organize more search parties?" Flavia looked at the caravan master.

The latter slowly shook his head with a serious look before declaring:

- "The desert takes what it wants. They are in Alkosh's hands now... may they leap to the sand behind the stars."

The old tabby khajiit made a gesture of prayer as he crossed his paws over his chest before returning to organize the departure of the convoy. Flavia was stunned at such a display of fatalism, she who had never left anyone behind when she was in the legion. Captain Tasarr seemed to agree with his compatriot and she understood that nothing would be done to find the missing.

At least the princess had been brought back safely. She was also pleased that Gunnar and Alberic had returned. The young boy was sitting in the back of one of the carts, taking long sips of water from his canteen. He stood up and tidied up his outfit as his superior approached.

- "Gunnar told me what happened..." she began. "You've been damn lucky."

- "Yes, captain." He remained upright and disciplined despite his fatigue and thirst.

The young mercenary expected another lecture from her, but she just stared at him for a moment. Flavia wore an expression he'd never seen on her before.

- "You did a good job," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

She nodded at him and walked over to Captain Tasarr'Do. Alberic couldn't believe it. Had she just complimented him? It was the first time. He remained silent for a moment before smiling, then laughing nervously. Perhaps it was fatigue or the fact that he had almost died, but he felt strangely good.

Someone coughed shyly behind his back and he pulled himself together to look Princess Shazira in the eye. She seemed nervous and played with her hands as she stared at him. Her lips were pursed in what was meant to be an embarrassed, hesitant pout.

- "I... thank you," she finally said in a low voice. "Thank you for saving me in the desert."

- "It was nothing... that's my job after all."

Shazira nodded before bowing respectfully. She was about to turn away when the young Breton stopped her.

- "Wait, miss..."

She looked at him, a curious gleam in her eye as he searched for words.

- "Thank you... for the quicksands. Without your help, I'd probably be dead by now."

The young khajiit seemed surprised at first by these words, then her lips stretched into a delighted smile.

- "You're welcome," she replied before walking away.

----------------------------------------

Notes:

[1] The daedras of Oblivion have their own language, the daedric tongue, although they are able to converse in all the languages of Tamriel. Adherents of the daedric cults use this language during prayers and rituals to commune more easily with their immortal lords.

[2] Originally there were sixteen Khajiit kingdoms. After centuries of wars, disasters and epidemics, only two remained, Anequina and Pellitine, which formed the unified kingdom of Elsweyr in the year 309 of the second era.

[3] The Tamrielian calendar is similar to our solar calendar. The weeks have seven days and the years have twelve months. A Turdas of Heartfire corresponds to a Thursday in September.

[4] Divinity of love, marriage and mercy. Mara is the patron goddess of the home and family.