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Two men were walking the busy market streets of Salkamar, among the tall towers and massive blocks of city buildings, passing connecting overhead bridges and thick wooden walking rails, upon which women were drying laundry and setting baskets of dried fruit to get some more sun. One man was tall with a crescent moon symbol tattooed on his right cheek, he seemed to be armed with a sword on his back. The other man was shorter and wider built, his wind-carved face had rough skin, he had black hair and a short beard, on his forehead he bore a symbol of a downward pointed spear.
The two men swurved away from the main market street into a shadowed alley and stopped to talk at the nearby granary, to not be in the way of the traffic. The tall man cut half of a peach with a small knife and handed it to the other. Together they ate fruit and talked.

"Well, what say you, Basil? Albar, Ar, Karras, Korba, and Gynk are in. Most of the Serinjah told me they're considering."
"Are you coming to me as an albarian agent?"
"I'm coming to you as an old friend."
"What you're asking of me will bring a massive change to the lifestyle and culture of the clans, many people will not like this."
"Look, there is going to be an uproar, and we will best be in it together."
"All I care about is being ready, another reorganization will only scatter what we gathered.
"Basil, that's exactly what I'm talking about! Being ready! Together we're stronger!"
"Together we fight too much."
"But we need each other's strength!"

"What we need... is to mind our own clan's business. Look what being everybody's friend got Crescent Moon into. Their trustiness got you all exterminated."
"It wasn't our trustiness, it was one man's stupid inability to be humane and civil. Greed and stupidity."
"It's not as black and white as you say. There are many factors to consider. What have you to offer anyway? Your clan is dead."
"No no, Crescent Moon is not dead. We have the seed!"
"So a woman survived..."

Basil smiled.

"We will start anew."
"Anew? To walk the road of mistakes again to trip again on it and fall?"
"Anew, to learn from their mistakes and build a new structure that can defend itself."
"Konrad, uniting the clans has not been done in centuries, that would simply shift the balance of power in one man's hands too much."
"I have this idea worked out. Independent clan leadership, just like now, only, now interconnected. No sole point of authority."
"There is a reason as to how and why our people survived in small nomadic communities, Konrad. Independence and freedom have been our guides."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Except now, you will have access to everything that's going on in the mainland. Every corner will be free to roam. No more fear, no more surprises."

Konrad has been busy the last two months. He bought ship rides to Albar, Karras, Gynk, and a number of small habitations known only to the travelled, to establish relationships with nomadic clans. At first he encountered immense opposition, but diplomacy and long negotiations made his first steps in the plan promising. This was his seventh negotiation visit.
This journey did not come easy for Konrad. It's been a week since he left Gobaith. The wound in his side he received from Drethek nine days ago didn't tickle. Still, he chose to undertake this journey. This would be his greatest challenge - Salkamar's streets. This city was full of city nomads, spies, beggars, rogues, and of course, seafarers. Seafaring gypsies were as ancient as seafaring itself. Basil was not a small figure here, and he really was hard to convince. Basil did not want to agree, and he clearly was not stupid or gullible, in fact, he possessed wisdom and foresight, qualities Konrad valued in an ally. Konrad was pleased.

"If you recall, there still are grand differences between the caste of warriors and caste of assassins."

Basil smiled.

"They aren't as great as you might think. Both are brothers in steel and blood. It matters not, be it surgical precision or butcherlike carnage. Both fight with honor and valor."

"Warriors pledge to the city, assassins only pledge to gold."
"By the Irmorom, I will pay you Basil!"
"I have already taken the money."
"I'll double it, Basil!"

Basil shook his head.
"I have already taken the money."

"Alright then, no military support. But look, one gold coin. One hundred silvers, your annual salary, Basil. All I ask for is an information traffic network. Every clan independent, looking out for each other on mutually beneficial terms. Not a union under one flag of power, but a partnership."

Basil smiled and shook Konrad's hand, as a heavy gold coin slipped out of it into his.

"I'm sure things can be done. I am a member of the council of captains after all."
"Thank you Basil."
"You're building an army, aren't you, Konrad..."
"No Basil, an army is not even close to it."
"We're not here to change the world, Konrad. Changing the future, changing history. You know sometimes I have a feeling that the future we build will end up not having a place for us. No place, no time. We strive for a greater civilization and we fight for it, but look at what it produces - infantile, weak willed, vain boring faces. Animals, farm animals, cattle followed by the herd instinct. One day after we die, there will be no room for adventurers and seafarers and risk takers."
"Perhaps, Basil. Perhaps we fight for our own kind's demise."
"It scares me, Konrad. It makes me not want to do it. I'm not sure I want to work for such a pointless future. Our names will be forgotten, our deeds will become known as foolishly dangerous. Our lifestyle obsolete."
"Cities will rise on our bones, Basil."
"Cities where honor is no longer a word in the language?"
"Life of the holy has to be washed from time to time by blood of the brave."
"History will hold no future for the brave."
"It really doesn't matter, Basil."
"Why not?"
"Because even if our deeds and our names will not be remembered, and even if nobody will know, the Gods, the Universe will know that at some point, at this threshhold, this stone in the ocean of time - we were here. What matters is that during our lifetime we had our share of courage, fighting, and adventure. The world is built with our hands, and it's a reward in itself."
"A reward in making history even if the future forgets where it stopped connecting with the past."
"History is not in the future, Basil. History is right here, in the present. History is walking right next to us. You can hold it in your fist and squeeze it. We make history today, it doesn't happen tomorrow."
"You clearly aren't of those who believe in predetermination."
"I believe in choice, Basil."

"I will do what I can, Konrad. I'm with you."
"Thank you, my friend."
"Off to the sea again?"
"Not yet. One more friend to visit. I am to travel south, a friend outfitted me with a sand caravan."
"I wish you well, son of Oliver."
"I wish you well, son of Chinbar."

Men shook hands and parted, both exiting the alley and disappearing within the crowd. Cries of two hawks were heard over the street, one in reply to another. A goodbye.

"Here is a bag with provision, all this food is best for desert climate, it keeps long and is rich with fiber, which should keep moisture in your body for a long time. In this bottle is water. Very important to drink in the desert, especially in the summer. The camel's saddle holds two more leather tuks, five gallons of water in each."
"Thank you, friends, without your help the Kharm Desert would be unpassable for me in the summer. Are the weapons also in tact?"

"Of course, we had your scimitars smithed here by our own blacksmith. They are authentic, no sand bandit will tell you for a foreigner."

This was true, bandits usually picked their targets carefully in the summer, because the population of the desert became scarce, and losing men was not desireable. The easiest targets are those who are not people of the desert, hence, not aware of its survival wisdoms. A man who dresses and arms himself with desert weapons is less likely to be attacked. Movement in the heat of the sand was highly desired to be slow, measured, and limited. Anything to preserve moisture in the skin layer and in muscle tissues. Clothes were usually dense but loose, no skin tight leathers. Dense, to keep the sun out and cool off the skin with what moisture gathers under the cloth, and loose to minimize sweating. The most important thing in the desert is to try not to sweat. Konrad, of course, knew this, but he gladly accepted advice of his friends. His camel was packed and ready.

"Thank you, once again! Great thanks! I will never forget your help, and it was not the first time."
"May your journey be safe and may the merciful sun permit your passage, Konrad Ibn Oliver."
"I wish you well, Abdul Ibn Hattab. I wish you well, Hassan Ibn Saran."

Konrad bowed, waved and began his way south west. He left the oasis early in the morning, before dawn, to gain a headstart on the burninig sun.
Heading down south from Salkamar he made it to Laris, where he hired a boat to help him get to Nubris. Now, leaving it behind, he was travelling to the Oasis of Five Wells, where he hoped to conduct another portion of his negotiations.
Konrad looked back.
As soon as the village was no longer in sight, he stopped the camel and checked its supplies.

In the cloth box with fruit laid a few recently dead desert insects. Konrad took out the custom scimitar and examined it. The handle was carefully cut through at the base. One powerful strike would make it loosen, and another strike would make the blade fall off. Konrad tossed the scimitar on the ground, shaking his head. He dropped all fruit on the ground, leaning over to pour all the water into the sand. He started inspecting the camel's toes, when he heard the smell. The animal's left rear foot had hardened beeswax stuck between the toes. Konrad cringed and carefully scraped it off with a small hunting knife. Breaking the ball of beeswax apart he found a small needle in the middle of it. By the looks of it, it was oiled through with deadly poison.
Konrad smiled at the enginuity of his traitors. When the day would come, and sun would rise higher, the sand would get hot, and beeswax in the camel toe would melt, letting the needle be pushed into the animal's foot under its own weight. Without a camel Konrad would never survive.
Well, now his situation was dire as it was. The food and water were all poisoned, so he was down to four flasks - ones he filled himself.
What else could they have done... Konrad thought, and checked a few more details of his gear, but they turned out to be legitimate.

He could not go back, or his enemies in Nubris would report it to their friends elsewhere. It was best to let Ibn Hattab and Ibn Saran think that he was dead.

Konrad's only choice was to take a grand detour to the nearest Oasis. According to his map it was but in five miles to the south east. Oasis of Red Scimitar.

* * *

Clad in a gray hooded desert robe, Konrad approached the oasis. It was a small village, some fifteen or twenty huts, surrounded by a tiny pond, clearly fed by an underground lake. A few palmtrees and minor vegetation grew around it. Many insects and small lizards completed the life's picture. In the middle of the village stood a public well, likely connected to the same water source.

Before Konrad even entered the village and turned his gaze to the first building with a small fence around it, he saw a woman, almost naked, with only a small silken half-transparent tunic covering her precious body. She looked a little dirty in the face, but it did not take away from her charm. Black long hair fell down her shoulders in smooth curled cascades.
The woman fell to Konrad's feet, on her knees, and hugged his legs.

"Please, buy me. Buy me, righteous noble man. For just a silver coin I will do anything you want, any way, just a silver for a night! Please, buy me. Anything you wish for, any way you like it."

Konrad measured the girl with his eyes as he took her by the shoulders and put her up to her feet. Sure, she could pass for a local beggar, waiting for the first man to come in from the north. If only something did not belong in her looks, she was lovely, granted that. Konrad looked over her curves, her breasts, her face, and she kept trembling and whispering in a begging tone, leaning forward to get her sweet mouth closer to his.
Konrad suddenly embraced her and spun around, putting her forward against the blow.

Blood streamed from her lips and ears as she fell to the ground breathless.
Konrad looked at the man before him who was clearly in shock. The gypsy noticed him nearing from around the corner of a building quite some time ago, he was a warrior and was trained in watching his surroundings.

"Your first mistake - you breathe too loud. Your second mistake is not having the dagger already lifted when you approach for the strike. I heard the movement of your cloth. You third mistake is letting the girl keep her eyes open. If she closed them, you wouldn't reflect in them.
Your fourth mistake was probably the girl's vanity. Instead of just shoving her face in dirt, you carefully applied river weed shoe polish paste to her face. How would a poor beggar from a desert oasis afford shoe paste made in Nubris? Finally, and this is a personal note, before planning to attack me in this way, you should have researched that I am married."

The stranger bared his scimitar. Konrad took out a short sword. The fight was a quick one, and soon Konrad was on top of the man with a sword on his throat.

"Who are you?"
"Just a local robber! We have tricked many lone traders this way."
"Oh, then well, I suppose I will be doing this small modest community a favor, ridding them of their bad reputation."Konrad swung up, preparing for a strike that would break the man's neck vertibrae.
"Wait no! No! I'm from Nubris! I am the insurance in case the poisons did not work! They knew you'd go here to replenish supplies! I thought your camel would be dead, but they told me how to recognize you."

"That confession most probably saved your life. Do you want to live?"
"Yes."
"What is your name?"
"Rahid Ja Ibn Hulud"

Konrad took out a small knife from his sheath and made a scratch on the man's arm, deep enough to make it bleed. The man held his cut and cried.

"Ah!"
"Here is the deal, Rahid. This poison will have no effect until two weeks into now. In two weeks it will kill you unless I give you the antidote. Go back to Nubris and tell your patron that you saw me come here without the camel, barely breathing, badly poisoned. Tell them that you killed me.
If you do as I instruct, upon my return to Nubris I will find you and give you and stop the poison's effect. Don't try to find a cure on your own, I invented this poison myself."
Rahid Ja Ibn Hulud nodded spastically.

"Good. Go."

Konrad stood up and sheathed his sword, and the man grabbed his bag and ran north into the desert.

This wasn't a promising start. How many villages ahead do they have insurance in...

Konrad was now midway between Nubris and Ur-Nekropolis. Every Oasis he found on his way, someone was out there to get him. He had to replenish his water supplies eight times now. The journey was now even harder, as one of the assassins finally managed to shoot the camel with an arrow. Konrad had to rely on what water he could carry.

Oasis of Flaming Fountain was a city with a little over 5000 population, constructed like a miniature fortress. Surrounded by a wall with sentry towers placed every two hundred feet, it was a fortified town build around a flourisihing geiser. One gate - the single way in and out, heavy double doors leading down the road into busy streets. This city was big enough to be put on the maps, but the local people really did not desire that. Only certain caravans and migrating tribes were allowed to learn the location of this secluded community.

Konrad made his way through the markets and bought some peaches. He also refilled his flasks and back sack with fresh water. He looked himself over and saddened, he saw that his body's condition wasn't best. He was exhausted, his wound seemed to have been aggrevated by heat and lack of bath in the long journeys, and his feet were wearing out. The boots, both of them, had holes in the place of big toes.
Konrad went around in search of a shoemaker.

This was when he chose to strike. Diving down into the street from a roof of a tall shrine chapel, the figure in white suppressed its fall by pushing off the walls and overhead rails with his feet, to reach Konrad without stepping once on the ground. Like a flying squirrel, the man hopped from roof to roof until he appeared out of nowhere to Konrad's right, and threw a bundle of metal stars at his head.

This one was trained. Konrad did not see it coming, though he generally expected it. By now he realized that the opposition did not start in Nubris. Perhaps it started back in Salkamar with Basil himself, or even earlier, in Albar. Barely hearing the stars whistle through the wind in his direction, he dodged reflexively and got hit in the shoulder instead. With a groan he pulled out the star and looked around. The man in a white hooded robe, much just like Konrad's gray one, optimized for desert work, ran up the wall and around his target, a short scimitar ready for a strike, as he leaped and sent a throwing knife into Konrad's heart.

Knox was impressed, this killer was hightly trained, probably very expensive, and he knew some tricks only certain bladeweavers are taught - he was in touch with secrets of gravity.

"Truly it's a disappointment that your colleagues have been softening me for you, and my beat up body is in no condition to give you a good dance you properly deserve."

The wound from Drethek's sword colored the bandage dark red, as Konrad strained his muscles.

"But on the other hand..."

the thrown knife, caught by Konrad midair, a foot away from his face, was now resting in his hand.

"... they gave me a nice warm up! Hhhagh!" Konrad threw the knife with all his might back at the white figure, and cringing, jumped up in the air, grabbing hold of a wooden rail of a merchant stand and backflipping over it onto the nearby roof.

The white clad assassin evaded the knife, and lunged at Konrad. The gypsy was leaving drops of escaping blood as his trail. For some time they were hopping between the buildings, one chasing the others, in a manner of professional urban athletics. They kept to narrow streets and alleys, where there was little tight room between the buildings. Now and then they'd drop a vase or a pot of flowers off a window, and people would look up in awe and exclaim, as the two air hikers moved with speed of birds.

"Getting bored yet?" Konrad yelled out with a tormented grin as he was studying the streets, making a mental map of the area and planning his route. Sweat mixed with blood on his skin, he started losing too much liquid. The killer was closing in. Konrad could not run for much longer, he had to accept a fight now if he banked to win, before he got too weak.

They landed on the roof of a large tower, on the opposite side of the wall from the town gate. Konrad picked this tower for its room, and flew over the edge. The landing was a crashing one, causing the gypsy to roll over several times and kiss the bricks. The killer landed perfectly and threw another knife before baring his scimitar again.
Konrad rolled away from the knife and propped up on his feet.
He took out his short sword, and soon the second one.

"Alright. You win. I'll have to fight you now, unless you're willing to turn back."
"I would offer the same to you, but I know you will not abandon your mission."
"Seems that's something we have in common, sticking to the plan."

Konrad smiled. The killer bowed.

"Your sword is no match for mine."
"On the contrary, I think the short sword will provide me with all the manuverability your scimitar will lack. Come here, I'll show you."

Konrad beaconed.

"Very well. You have lived longer than anyone I encountered. It will be an honor to kill you, Konrad Knox, son of Oliver."

"Care to give me your name since one of us is going to die anyway?"

The two started closing in on each other.

"I have been taught that my target is weaker if he is tormented by things he does not know about me, like my face and my name."

"Well, I'm already pretty beat up, you weaken me a bit more and I might as well just fall over."

The first attack followed. With a screech and a trail of sparks, the lightning quick scimitar rubbed against the surface of Karrasean steel, trapped between two short swords, and in the very first parry, Konrad counter-attacked with the second sword, wounding the assassin, and sending him off to the ground with a powerful kick to the chest. The man slid on his side a good fifteen feet before getting back up.
He looked astonished and impressed, hesitating a mere second, clearly considering how well does his opponent fight when he is not wounded.

"Master."
"Master."

The hooded one said:

"The man you fight today is called Ashkalad Ibn Saar-Dakar, The Falling Rain, Son Of White Sand."

"Your skill is great, it can be used elsewhere, to rid the world of evil people. I am not evil."

"In a way you are. Your mission is to gain control and power."

"War is coming to my land."

"Then fight it as a soldier, not as a general."

"It's not how it seems. Things aren't exactly as straight everywhere else as they are in the desert. You have to lead people to make them fight, people side with victory and security. Honor is a dying breed. Please, leave me be, Ashkalad."

"Is that an honorable warrior's words?"

"You've opened my wound, Ashkalad. I'm losing blood. Which means I have to end this in less than ten minutes. I don't want to end your life today."

"I come to you with an open soul, Konrad. Before I agree on any mission, I spend a day in the temple... to pray. My sins have been forgiven, and the Shadowed One will take me into his embrace. Today in front of you, my life is not worth a handful of this sand."

The man in white scooped a hand full of sand from the roof's surface, and let it fall and wither in the wind.

"Fine! If you want to die, then die, you deserve it!"

"A greater honor I would not dare ask."

"Let's dance then."

The fight was intense in the first thirty strikes. On the third minute Ashkalad started to realize that even heavily wounded and bleeding, Konrad's mastery exceeds his. They both bent angles equally well, but Konrad's control over gravity and illusion made his head spin.

Cut in four places, Ashkalad went for his only chance to complete his mission - he closed in on Konrad, opening his chest up. Konrad's first blade immediately entered under the man's ribs. In terror, he stopped the second blade mid-swing. Konrad swore he could have blocked that, but instead, it seemed a harsh price for getting close. Ashkalad grabbed Konrad's collar, and snatched the piece of parchment sticking out of Konrad's jacket, which flapped open a few strikes ago.
Realizing what Ashkalad just did, Konrad cried "NO!", but it was too late. Ashkalad read the word "Troll's Bane" and kicked Konrad into the portal which opened right behind him.

"Damn it all!" Konrad cursed as the surroundings took familiar shape. He was back, in the middle of a one way portal.