13th of Summer, 505AV. After the slaves had been freed, and Cyrus had stocked himself with enough food for the journey, he and the Sand Devils had rode out on horseback, charging through the barren desert. They served him now, they were his men. And with these new found followers, Cyrus would find Erzal and bring him to justice. None knew where he was, though the Benshiran knew that he roamed the desert with his men, bringing destruction and death upon any who were unlucky enough to cross his sadistic path. The ride had been long, and spent in silence, and in some ways it reminded him of when he used to hunt with his people, spending long days away from home. This time however, he was surrounded by forty men armed with spears, clubs and scimitars, with far more armour than his people had ever worn. Cyrus led the horseman from the front, his brown mare faster than those of his fighters. It had belonged to Bablagu, the former leader of the group. The King always rode the fastest horse, it was accustom to this group of raiders and thieves. Cyrus was not particularly fond of horses, yet he rode one all the same. The other warriors were not far behind, clicking tongue and slamming flanks to make their own horses run at maximum pace. The group left a dwelling cloud of sand and smoke in their wake, and from afar would have looked like a desert worm, or some other large creature. There was no time to speak or converse during the journey, only when they stopped to make camp. And judging by the sun beginning to set, they would have to do so quite soon. Cyrus began to pull against his horses reins in a desperate attempt to get it to stop. It’s hooves slid through the sand for several feet, before the great brown steed came to a steady halt. The other men did the same, wondering why Cyrus had stopped in such an open location. Nothing but sand was around, yet there were no hills to hide within either. Just an open plain of golden grain. Cyrus turned his horse to face the other men as they all stopped, their faces ripe with confusion. “We will make camp here, before the sun sets and we lose light.” He commanded, and many of the men quickly began to dismount. He did so shortly after, approaching one of the helmetless men. His black hair was cropped to hug his scalp, though his large beard had been plaited and adorned with beads. He was Ralet, assistant to the King of the Sand Devils. Cyrus had not made much conversation with him earlier, though he knew that his services would be of use, as his advice and counsel. Ralet dived into a low kneel as Cyrus approached, yet he only told him to rise. Ralet did so, then spoke quietly. “What do you need of me, m’lord?” He asked, almost dropping into a kneel again. Cyrus stopped him with a hand. “Where was Erzal the last time you saw him?” Cyrus asked, his tone stern and serious. He wanted to find the man as soon as he could, and not waste any more time. “Bablagu met him at the Keerdash Grove, m’lord. Few days south from our current position.” He pointed south, and Cyrus ran a tongue over his own lips. Clearly the bandit that was Erzal had already moved on, as nobody stayed in one place for too long in this desert. Nobody. “Keerdash? I have heard of it.” Cyrus replied, trying to think of the place that Ralet spoke of. It was a small grove of trees amongst the desert, red leaves falling amongst the golden sand. It was a perfect meeting spot solely due to the fact it stood out so much. Cyrus needed to lure Erzal back to that grove, so he could exact his revenge. Men walked past continuously as the two spoke, trying to set up tents and a fire before the cold night came. One bumped into Cyrus accidentally, muttering apologies as he walked off as quickly as he could. “Indeed, a beautiful grove amongst a barren desert, m’lord. Bablagu always made that his meeting point, no matter who he was meeting. It stands out so much that once it’s in sight, it’s hard to miss it. Unlike the rest of the desert, which is nothing but the same thing for miles. What were your plans, m’lord?” Ralet dropped into another kneel, and Cyrus shook his head. He was not a King, he was a man who killed a man. Nothing more. He was tired of being treated like one, yet he knew it was the only way these men would follow him. “Ralet, tell me, can you find him? He surely doesn’t know that Bablagu is dead. One man can travel far lighter than forty, so it will be easier for you to find him.” “I could try m’lord, I would do all in my power to find him for you. But if I did find him, what then? What would you have me do?” Ralet asked curiously, reaching for the dagger on his belt. He thought that Cyrus wanted him to assassinate the man, but he was wrong. “Arrange a meet. Tell him that Bablagu wants to meet him at the Keerdash Grove.” Cyrus said sternly, and Ralet raised an eyebrow in confusion. “But Bablagu is dead...” He stated, and Cyrus tried not to bark a laugh at his stupidity. “He does not know that, and he doesn’t need too either. I am sure he will not meet me if I tell him my true name, for he and I have unfinished business that I must take care of.” Ralet nodded, and loosened his grip on the dagger. Cyrus smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder, the first time he had smiled in years. “Take my horse, and meet us at the grove in four days, whether you find him or not. Good luck.” No more words were spoken as Ralet bowed and turned away, running off to pack food and do the bidding of his master. |