The Sands, Fallien - Present Day
Echoes of the Mountains of Zaileya rose in the distance. They were still far enough away that only the tips of the peaks rose over the horizon, clawing their way into the cloudless sky. Their presence sent a murmur of excitement rippling down the caravan. It meant they were deep into the interior of the Wastes. It meant they were near the outlander’s archaeological dig site and the end of their journey.

It meant they were nearly finished with Sheillal.

This deep into the interior there was nothing to shelter the caravan from the full wrath of Mitra’s undivided attention. The heat soaked into Madi, bearing down on him like a physical weight. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically.

“How much worse has Sheillal’s madness been on those who aren’t driving one of the wagons?” Madi asked himself. He looked over at the men trudging along beside him, wearily slapping one foot down in front of another, driven only by routine. Truth be told, he’d ordered the walking men to switch out with the waggoneers two days ago, but there was only so much rest that could be gained. Sheillal seemed to push them longer and get them up earlier every day, and everyone in the caravan had been driven to the breaking point by the relentless pace that Sheillal was setting. Everyone except for the foreigners, who rode inside their specialized wagon, and Sheillal himself.

Sheillal. Madi was surprised that he didn’t think of the man as Master anymore. That was a title which had to be earned on the caravan roads. And the actions that Sheillal took on this trip showed Madi that the man was no longer fit to be a caravan master.

Madi had tried to approach his former friend multiple times during the week that they’d been away from the Heshazde Oasis, but had always been placidly rebuked. The last time, Sheillal had coldly assured him that the interest of the caravan stretched only as far as the foreigner’s archaeology site and that there would be no hesitation in reaching that goal. Madi had stopped approaching Sheillal after that.

Madi looked back down the caravan train. Despite his disgust with the foreigners, he knew that the only way to end this disastrous journey would be to do as they asked.

Something occurred to Madi then. There was another way, he realized.

Madi looked back up the line, watching the implacable motion of Sheillal’s wagon at the front of the caravan. No matter how much coin this job brought in, Sheillal’s caravan was finished. Too much hardship compounded by a flippant discarding of Khemal, a man who had been solidly respected by all of the hired workers, was the death knell for this group. Madi doubted that Sheillal would be able to hire enough hands to manage a three wagon train anywhere in Irrakam once word got out about his actions.

The caravan had once been Sheillal’s life. What would he have once it was gone? Wouldn’t it be kinder to save him from that fate; leave him with what he loved?

Madi’s hand unconsciously slipped to the knife at his belt.