Mitra’s light was fading fast, as it always did out in the dune seas. Sheillal had pushed his caravan hard, promising them that they would make the Heshazde Oasis before the light completely gave out. It would be a close thing, but the caravan master had been right. Sheillal himself had stoically ignored the muttered curses of his wage hands, riding at the fore of the caravan with his eyes firmly locked on the horizon. Complaints over long marches were a part of caravan life, and it was a poor master who took them to heart. Giving in to fatigue was a weakness, and in the wastes weakness meant death. Besides, he had been correct, and his forced march off the regular caravan route had shaved at least two days from their estimated travelling time. An audible groan of relief issued from every throat as the caravan rode into the Heshazde Oasis. Every throat but Sheillal’s.Heshazde Oasis, Fallien - Present Day
“Master,” a stocky man called out, approaching Sheillal. Khemal was a hard man. A working of leathery sun-kissed skin stretched taut over the coils of thick muscle. He was stern and sober, and he was also Sheillal’s friend and second in command. The dozen years Khemal had travelled with the caravan had turned him into tough leather, both inside and out, but he’d always been thankful to the man who had given purpose to his life. There was little thanks in him now though, as he approached the lead caravan.
Khemal waved Sheillal’s attention toward the work hands as he came to rest before the caravan master. The men were visibly weary, worn to the bone by the day’s long march. “I did not voice my complaints over your decision to turn us to Heshazde but I must admit that I felt my doubt as surely as the others did. In all my years we’ve never marched that hard, but you were right.” Khemal bowed his head in respect. “Once more your mastery is revealed. Please accept my apologies.” The words meaning did not match the harsh way in which they were spoken, however.
“There is nothing to apologize for,” Sheillal said. He either had not heard the Khemal’s angry inflection or else had chosen to ignore it. “I did nothing more than run the figures and exert my will to enforce what was necessary to match their requirement.”
“As you say,” Khemal replied, frowning. His friend had been acting strangely since the caravan left Irrakam three days previous. Sheillal was a smart man, and a shrewd bargainer. He knew facts and figures as well as any in the business, but he had never spoken of them in this manner. Hearing the caravan master speak of facts and accomplishing exertions rather than the effort that his men had put forth seemed somehow wrong to Khemal. Something was wrong with the Sheillal, but Khemal didn’t quite know what it was.
“Will there be anything else, Khemal?” Sheillal asked, flat eyes staring blankly at his lieutenant.
“No, master,” Khemal replied. He wanted to shout at Sheillal, to vent his frustration at his friend’s behavior. We have travelled three days from the Great City, he would say. Three days of travel with a man who is a stranger to me. You have always been bold, but never like this. The safety of our men and our beasts has always been the priority. Why did you order us here? Why did you take this risk, my friend? But Sheillal was master, and he had made it clear his orders were not be questioned.
Instead, Khemal turned and began whistling the hands to rise from their rest. “I shall see to it that the animals are watered and the camp properly set.”
Sheillal nodded and turned back to staring at the horizon, lost in his own thoughts.
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