Ibilsin lay against his horse atop the dune, the sandstorm had lightened slightly. The sightlines had increased but the landscape remained unchanged, it was still filled with ocean of sand. Hope for a certainty of whether or not the Aubuk’s still followed had rocketed when he went out to patrol at the beginning of the day. Surely Sayf Abbas will realize they aren’t following if we can see four more meters than the last day.

Ibilsin reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a folded map, unfolding out in front of him, placing his water skin at the top corner. The map showed the city of Hanaa, and its surrounding areas up to the Gilnian mountains in the east and the great Diwa Desert to the west.

He traced the path the Qafil had taken from Hanaa with his finger. Moving it southward down toward what the Aubuk’s labeled, Grand Princedom of Saprosk. The Qafil had traveled for two weeks southwest from the city, and he knew that they had passed by the Oasis of Safriq. His finger landed on an isolated spot of the Diwa Desert that sat three fingers away from the supposed Saprosk border.

Ibilsin grabbed a charcoal pen from his pack and retraced his line, placing a dot where he tracked Maratek to be. He intricately studied the map, the Aubuk’s traveled heavily, their horses and riders both covered in metal armor. Not to mention the other non-military companies that traveled with the detachment.

If they’re following us, they’re at Safriq, he thought, they’re mere hours behind us, and that sandstorm has to have forced them to camp somewhere they can live with water. Ibilsin marked the oasis with a dot, before packing his pen and map back into his saddle bag. He grabbed a handful of dried dates and fed them to his horse.

Mounting his horse, he turned and began to ride northeast toward the Oasis. If the Aubuk’s were at Safriq, he’d be able to get close enough to know for certain and back to camp by the first moonlight. And if the sandstorm continued, he wouldn’t have to worry about being tracked.

Ibilsin rode for hours, his legs began to chafe from the saddle. He reigned his horse and dismounted, taking a drink from his water skin as he led his horse to the top of the dune. He took in the surrounding environment and brushed the sand out of the horse’s mane while distracting it with a handful of dates. On the neighboring dune he spotted a jagged rock he could leave his horse at.

Leading the horse there was no issue, he quickly tied his reigns around the rock and let the horse lay down in its shade. He grabbed the map and pen from the saddle bag, as well as a small bag of mixed nuts and dates. Tying the bag to his belt, he readjusted his sword to lay lower on his hip and the dagger to ride the small of his back.

Ibilsin gave his horse a final pat and began to walk north. To walk alone in the desert was foolish and dangerous for the inexperienced. I am no fool, I am a Sayf Alrima. I can cross any desert. Ibilsin thought as he crested another dune.

From the top of the dune, he could see a small dot of green on the horizon. Safriq, I return to you. Even though the leaves of the Oasis Palms were small at this distance, their vibrant green color was always a refreshing and relieving sight. Ibilsin began to walk again, taking time to investigate the surroundings as he did.

Caution this close to an oasis was always required, he couldn’t determine who or what stopped at the oasis. It could be another Bidualsham Qafil, it could be the Aubuk army, it could even be a Sheathe of Trogs. Regardless, Ibilsin crept closer and closer, the sun had begun to fall as he neared the edges of the oasis. From the top of a nearby dune, he spotted gold-colored tents, he could also hear shouting thought at this distance it was indecipherable.

Ibilsin slide down the dune, reaching the bottom he fell forward onto his stomach and began to crawl up the final dune. He peered over the dune’s crown and focused in on the camp. The golden tents were coupled with small wooden towers at the sides, banners of red and gold adorning them. The Aubuks are following us after all. Ibilsin thought as he continued to investigate the camp.

The camp was larger than even the largest Qafils, they had rows of tents that stretched back three dunes away from the oasis. This was no simple detachment of cavalry that was chasing them, it was an entire army. He could see the improvised horse stables, as well as the archery targets that was set up in a corner of the camp.

Ibilsin shook his head, as soon as the sandstorm lightened enough, they would have to leave. If they didn’t the Aubuks would be upon them in a few days, if not hours. Ibilsin drew out his map and pen, flipping the map over to the blank side, noting what he could see.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Four detachments of archers.

One or Two detachments of light cavalry.

A detachment of heavy cavalry.

Possibly a small contingent of militia infantry.

Six hours to the north at the Oasis of Safriq, likely slow moving, if mobilized, arrival at Maratek within a day, at a quickened pace within six hours.

Ibilsin stowed the map and pen and began to crawl back down the dune. As he did, he heard a cough, it wasn’t loud, nor was it intentional. His heart raced, Someone’s coming, quickly Ibilsin crouched and drew his dagger, using the airborne sand as his concealment.

The moving sand and mutters of the man walking the other side of the dune rang louder than the sand that blew through the area. Ibilsin tightened the grip on his dagger and put out his left hand to balance himself against the screaming winds.

Ibilsin’s body trembled as his anxiety rose, whatever was to crest the dune would either end up dead or end up being his death. Is this the future my dream warned me of? he thought, I’ve left my Qafil, I have nobody here with me. Is this going to be the pale green robed figure? Are they my death?

While his eyes were trained on the crest he couldn’t focus on it, his mind was clouded by the thoughts and doubts. His heart felt as it was going to jump out of his chest and bury itself into the sand. A gray coned helmet with a golden wrap around the base crossed the crux of the dune. He didn’t give the figure time to observe their new surroundings when he rushed up and grabbed them.

Ibilsin grabbed the man by a leather strap that ran from his shoulders to his belt and rolled him over his back, flinging him down the dune. The action happened so quickly that the man seemingly forgot to yell. His body lost control and rolled down the hill, Ibilsin took advantage and slide down the dune leaping off it and on top of the man as he neared him.

Ibilsin tried to pierce the mans armor with his dagger as he landed but the man, though surprised, was prepared to defend himself. The man grasped his wrists holding the dagger just above the shining metal of his breastplate.

The man took one of his hands off of Ibilsin’s wrist and put it to his face, shoving him back. The heat from the man’s hand transferred through the mask onto Ibilsin’s face, it was an uncomfortable but bearable heat. The dagger began to slowly rise away from the man’s chest, and Ibilsin’s face continued to get pushed away from his opponent.

Great Flame, this man has the strength of three men. Ibilsin broke took his left hand from the dagger and chopped at the man’s arm, letting him break away from him. Ibilsin dropped a few paces back, lowering his center and steadying himself as his opponent scrambled to stand.

The man cursed in Aubuk as he unsheathed his sword. Ibilsin transferred his dagger to his left hand and drew his sword. He and the man began to circle eachother in the small valley between sand dunes. The man’s eyes narrowed, both of his hands on the handle of his sword.

Ibilsin continued to circle, His people may be of the desert, but they know little of how to fight in the sand, he thought as he awaited the man to strike. Eventually the man caved and came forwards, Ibilsin didn’t move to meet him and let the man come forth.

The sword came down hard, but telegraphed, he was able to easily block the attack. As he did, he slashed at the man with the dagger, catching the inner portion of his upper arm. The man retreated back, taking a moment to examine the new cut. Ibilsin returned to his previous stance, he’d remain on the defensive.

The man came back at him, swinging his sword in a fury of quick slashes and stabs. Ibilsin was able to evade most of the strikes, his opponent was not a skilled swordsmen. Each strike he made was telegraphed from the beginning. But despite the telegraphed strikes, he couldn’t keep up with the quantity of them. The man landed a thrust that cut through his robes and skin on his upper arm.

Blood ran down his arm, staining his off white robes crimson. Ibilsin gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes changing focus to the tip of the blade rather than the man’s arm motion. His opponent made another fury of strikes, Ibilsin evaded and deflected each this time.

Ibilsin’s breath became heavy, his lungs felt like they were on fire. Sweat dripped into his eyes, while blood began to soak his sleeve. The man came in for another set of strikes, this time Ibilsin caught the first strike with his sword, slicing at the man’s face with his dagger.

The dagger slide across his opponents face, leaving a river of blood from cheek to nose. The man backed away, instinctively putting a finger up to the cut. Ibilsin stood, awaiting the next attack. His shoulders rising and falling with his breath. The man didn’t send another set of strikes, and they began to circle eachother once more.

Need to finish this, have to get back. He thought, continuing to circle with the man. Ibilsin gripped his dagger tightly, and in a swift motion threw it at the man. The dagger embedded itself into the mans shoulder and Ibilsin charged in. His charge was interrupted by a strike from the man that caught him by surprise.

The man sent a cut that caught Ibilsin’s face, he could feel the steel slice through his mask and pierce his skin. The cut ran from his ear down to the corner of his mouth and down. Despite the strike Ibilsin pressed forward, and sent two quick strikes at the man. He first sliced at an angle, catching the man’s armor, then he thrust up from that downward angle through the gaps in the man’s armor.

He could hear the tearing of cloth and flesh as he thrust his sword up into the man’s chest. A final gasp of air left the man, as Ibilsin withdrew his blade from him. His opponent stood for a moment before collapsing to the ground, his blood staining the sand.

Ibilsin took his middle and index fingers and quickly ran them from the top of the slain man’s face down to his chin while bowing his own head. Ibilsin sheathed his sword, retrieving his dagger and running as fast as he could to his horse.