The crack of dawn saw a cloud of multi-coloured lights leading a pair of camels along the base of a series of foothills. Eirik judges that they were heading northeast but he didn’t understand why. The map showed no settlements or towns ahead of them, not even a trading post or water-hole, but something about their guide’s persistence left him intrigued. He just hoped that wherever they were going had someone who could help Ruefin.

  They had camped in the ravine overnight. Eirik had attempted to press on in the late afternoon but the dancing lights darted in front of him, changing colours and whirling in what he could only describe as agitation. They didn’t touch him, but the musical tinkling became discordant and the texture of their gaze – if it could be called that – was almost pleading. Eventually he relented and settled back down, absently chewing on a handful of dried fruit. It wasn’t a bad place to spend the night. Ruefin alternated between filling his belly and filling the air with the din of his snoring. Although his colour had improved, his face was still wreathed in sweat. On inspection, the wound had turned a deeper, angrier red, and dark lines had begun to spread into the surrounding flesh. Fluid was seeping from the wound and a sour odour rose from the stained dressing. Time was running out and Eirik knew full well the consequences of an infected battle injury.

  He didn’t want to think about it. Ruefin had been a part of his life since his earliest days in the army. He’d helped a callow seventeen year old youth understand the reality of military life. Many times the whistling blade of the claymore had saved Eirik’s skin. Now, nine years later on a different continent, he knew it was his turn to save Ruefin.

  A hot dry breeze blew from the north and Eirik turned his face towards it, narrowing his eyes against the sun. In the far distance he could just make out the yellow-orange undulations of the Breskit-Hai desert. The air shimmered and shifted, blurring the line between desert and sky in watery strokes of colour. Stories circulated among the soldiers about that desert and the merciless heart at its heart. Nothing lived there, nothing grew there, and no man who entered it ever returned. He looked ahead at the entity blazing the trail for them and prayed that it didn’t turn to the north.

  Time passed and the camels marched ever onward, paying no mind to the sun overhead or the baking hot ground beneath their splayed feet. The rolling gait had a soporific effect and Eirik fought the urge to doze despite his restful night. A glance across at Ruefin showed him slumped in the saddle making little effort to keep his balance.

  “Ruefin! Hey Ruefin, wake up!” he shouted.

  “Hmm?” The response was delayed and the voice muffled. “Are we there yet? I could murder a tankard of ale.”

  Eirik couldn’t tell if delirium was setting in or Ruefin was being his normal self. The thought of ale lodged in Eirik’s mind and tantalised his dry mouth and gritty tongue. The image of a tavern, cool, smoky, and filled with revelers and cold beer came to him and refused to leave.

  A swallow of warm water was a poor second best. Eirik sighed and began scanning the rock-face as they passed by, hoping to find a spot to rest. A distant flash of green caught his attention and his stood up in the stirrups for a better look. Green meant plants, and plants meant water. He shaded his eyes and squinted into the distance. The most he could make out was a thin greenish line at the horizon, but it was enough to set his heart racing and send a wave of optimism washing over him.

  A sudden change came over the lights that had led them onward. The music grew louder, loud enough to stir Ruefir from his torpor, and they flew back and began circling the camels at breakneck speed.

  “What’s happening? What are they doing, Eirik?”

  No sooner had Ruefin spoken, the lights ceased spinning and rocketed off into the distance in an explosion of colour and sound. Left in their wake lay a faint hint of glittering particles leading in the direction of the green smudge on the horizon.

  “They’ve gone,” Eirik said, a little disappointed, “but they’ve left a path for us. Wherever they’ve been leading us, it’s over there.” He pointed into the distance and spurring Lady Latrine into a lumbering jog. Not wanting to be left behind, Ruefin’s beast bellowed in protest and picked up his own pace. Eirik was painfully aware that this was no time of day to be racing across the landscape, but Ruefin’s worsening condition preyed on his mind. If they made camp, there was a chance Ruefin would pass out completely and that would be the end of it.

  For the longest time their goal remained a distant smear of vague green, vanishing occasionally in the rising waves of heat. Part of him began to fear that it was nothing more than an illusion and they were galloping towards their death. He gritted his teeth, tasted the desert on his tongue, and swore that he wouldn’t let either of them die in this dust-bowl.

  Trees. From out of nowhere, trees appeared. These were not the wizened products of parched earth, but lush and thriving things. If his throat hadn’t been parched, Eirik might have shouted his relief at seeing grass growing and shrubs rustling gently in the breeze. For vegetation to be burgeoning there had to be water, and plentiful water at that. Maybe there would be people too.

  By the time the camel’s feet touched grass, Eirik had spotted the structures a short distance away. He reined Lady Latrine in and brought her to a halt beside the wide river bed with its channel of sparkling water in the centre. He dismounted and left her assaulting a tree while he struggled to get Ruefin down from a beast that had more interest in eating than being agreeable. The big man hit the earth with a thud and a groan. At least he was still alive.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Come on you fat bastard,” Eirik grabbed Ruefin under the armpits and pulled him upright, “there’s water here. An actual fucking river. And people too. We’re going to be fine.” He looped a limp arm over his shoulder and half-dragged his friend to the water’s edge. All the while he kept an eye on the figures moving between the buildings on the opposite side of the river. The experience at the water-hole made him wary – the last thing they needed was a repeat performance now. They had definitely been seen. The familiar tickle inside his skull told him that many gazes were centred on them right now.

  “Let’s hope the natives are friendly,” he said, handing Ruefin a canteen freshly filled with cool water.

  “Shouldn’t we go and introduce ourselves?” Ruefin asked after draining the bottle. “Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

  “Wandering into their village might be ruder than waiting here,” Eirik replied, “and after that fiasco the other night, I’d rather keep the river between us for the moment.”

  With fresh water in abundance, Eirik set to making a better job of cleaning Ruefin’s wound. Foul-smelling fluid had seeped through the dressing and sand had formed a thick crust making it difficult to remove. Ruefin gave an uncharacteristic squeal as the fabric came away with most of the scab still attached.

  “Damn you, are you trying to skin me alive?” Ruefin’s eyes rolled and his skin paled rapidly.

  “Oh stop moaning you big baby or I’ll feed you to the camels.”

  A trickle of fresh blood ran down Ruefin’s chest along with a smear of greenish-yellow pus. The edges of the wound had blackened and the discolouration had spread further. After rinsing the blood and discharge away, the wound still looked terrible but at least the smell had faded.

  They sat with their bare feet in the cool water, and Eirik felt Ruefin slowly slump against his shoulder. He turned his attention back to the village across the way and wondered what the inhabitants were thinking. No alarms had been sounded so far, and no-one was approaching, but a group of maybe half a dozen people stood in what looked like deep conversation.

  The village itself was comprised of round huts built of woven reeds and grasses arranged in a large circle. Two buildings stood out in that they were constructed of reddish-brown mud bricks and topped with pitched roofs. Both had chimneys from which wisps of smoke emerged, and the larger of the two had shuttered windows.

  As he watched, a figure emerged from the larger building and approached the waiting group. Words were exchanged and the figure broke away and began to walk towards the river, their steps unhurried and their bearing confident.

  “Uh-oh,” Ruefin muttered under his breath, “here comes the welcoming committee.”

  Eirik stood in the shallow water and bowed, hoping this encounter went better than the last. The figure opposite returned the bow and moved closer to the water’s edge, using a long wooden spear to negotiate the loose shale.

  “Greetings traveller,” The man said in Galti, “what brings you to such a remote place?”

  That’s a better start, Eirik thought, at least he seems friendly.

  “Forgive us our intrusion,” he began, “but we find ourselves here by accident. We were attacked at a waterhole to the west and, in fleeing, became lost in a dust storm. My friend is injured, and if it weren’t for the desert lights we would never have made it to water.”

  he man put his head on one side and waded across the river until he stood before them. Eirik felt Ruefin tense up and reached down to squeeze his shoulder. He pulled his headscarf off and pushed his filthy hair out of his eyes.

  “We mean no harm to you and your village,” he said, watching the man inspecting them carefully.

  “Desert lights? Did the Sand Sprites bring you to us?”

  The man pushed his own headscarf aside to expose the dark and weathered visage of a man in late middle age. His dark brown eyes were wide and his expression one of surprise.

  “They were coloured lights in the air. They made some kind of music when they moved. We were led to a place of shelter, then they led us here. What are they?”

  The man’s lined face crinkled into a smile and he extended a hand towards the village across the river.

  “A good omen. Come to the village and sit in the shade.”

  Eirik didn’t need a second invitation. He collected the reins of both camels and used the other to haul Ruefin to his feet.

  “Here, let me lead your beasts. Your friend is sick.”

  Even with Eirik’s help, Ruefin had difficultly standing and blundered his way inelegantly through the water with his breath rasping in his throat. Their guide called out in his native tongue and one of the waiting group ran forward to take Ruefin’s other arm whilst another scurried off towards the smaller of the mud brick huts.

  “We will take your friend to the Greenwalker. The power of the land flows through her and she will heal his wounds.”

  “Thank you, we’re grateful for your kindness,”

  Relief washed over him and Eirik gave a great sigh as he trudged towards the village. All he needed now was a beer.