Chapter 17

November 7th, 2020

The following days were mind numbingly dull. He woke with the camp, was fed a meager breakfast with water, was allowed to relieve himself, then sat in the cage till the Zenith, when they were given their portions of fresh water. Then they waited till the Fall, were fed dinner and more water. That was it. Day after day. He spoke with the others to pass the time, and got to know them a little. However, when he began to hear about their families, he ended up retreating into his silence. He realized that he didn't want to know about them. The more he knew, the harder it would be when they were executed. He tried to ask his Draconian guards some questions, but was met with short answers and was fed less as a result. He did find out that the Empress was 'gone'. He hadn't seen her leave, though he supposed he didn't have a very good view of much of the camp at all. When he asked about what was to be come of them, he just got a smile, and the guard licked his lips. It sent a shiver through his spine. He had seen much of society and...a strange sense of kindness or honor in the Draconians, he had almost forgotten how they were also not only carnivores but also, rather cannibalistic. To them, the prisoner's must be little more than tasty morsels. Perhaps the delicacy at some banquet to come.

After several days of this mind numbing droll of an existence, Zechariah's isolated thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a caravan to the camp. He knew not all of what it bore but, following the caravan was a large supply of livestock. It caused quite the stir, as the whole camp was suddenly buzzing with activity. Livestock being counted, herded, penned. Goods being traded and bargains being made. It was all so familiar to Zechariah. Familiar except, it all happened in a language he didn't know, spoken with very few words and very little sign of companionship. Back in Hyran, when the markets came or they traveled to Perdale, even when one was a complete stranger, you treated them like good friends. Obviously as a way to potentially garter a good deal but, it was all very friendly none the less. Here though, there was no false laughter, there was no buttering up, there were no attempts at intimidation. If anything, Zechariah would have said that it seemed boring. The most peculiar thing though, was that he noticed there were a high number of Draconian women in the caravan. Some of them found and paired with some soldiers, the others simply worked. He assumed that the ones who paired off must have been wives of some sort, but there seemed to be nothing in way of expressing love. Simply a small...chirrup. Like that a bird might make, though deeper and more gravely. He assumed that this had to be a sign of affection, or perhaps like...a mate calling their other or something. These Draconians confused him more and more. Whatever signs of affection he was missing, he did not miss the one of scales upon scales that rose through out the camp that night. As seemed to be usual with the Draconians, there seemed to be little to nothing in the way of verbal appreciation of the nightly exercise.

Two days after, one well garbed Draconian took flight and, soaring low over the camp, began shouting down to every one, a small sentence. He soon found out, that they were preparing to leave though his inquiry as to where and how soon and why, were completely ignored. They were removed from their cages and tied to a post buried in the sands as their cages were dismantled and packed away. He sighed heavily. More nights sleeping tied up. He hoped that it was not going to be a long journey.

By the third Rise, the camp was packed, and they began their march. Armored Draconians at the head and rear of the long trail. Caravans and important personnel in the middle, at the back of which marched Zechariah and the other prisoners. Seeing little but the wagon in front of him, and sand to either side, he looked down, watching his feet. One foot after the other. One. Two. One...Two... On, and on he walked. He entered some form of trance, watching the sands pass beneath his feet in the exact same rhythm over and over again, for an unknown amount of time until he was interrupted by a captor giving him water. Looking up, the Sun had passed it's Zenith and was on it's second Fall. Goodness...he had been in a trance for quite some time. As the marching continued, he decided to induce the trance, to make things more bearable. So, looking at his feet, he continued on wards. One. Two. One... Two...on, and on he walked.

The first night they set up camp, it was far smaller than before. The tents were far closer together, they burned far less wood eating primarily dried meat, rather than slaughtering fresh livestock. Many of the Draconians didn't even bother to set up tents, preferring to simply sleep under some skin woven blankets, which they would lay upon the hot sands before night fell. He supposed that helped it maintain some warmth. He and the other prisoner's were provided with rag like blankets that they wrapped themselves in eagerly. In the previous camp, although they had been surrounded, they hadn't been actively watched every hour of the night. Here though, after the camp ate and they all settled down to rest, a captor came over and sat cross legged before the prisoners, and stared at them. Zechariah could not see the guard's features for his back was to a fire, and so he was silhouetted, though, it only served to enhance the eeriness of his unmoving form.

Zechariah slept fitfully that night, dreaming of his horrors, of the shadows, of the deaths of his family, of a world burning in darkness. He woke uneasy, and tired and very very sore. Breakfast was some meats and water. Protein to help in the long walk. Then, they were behind that damnable wagon again, walking and walking, with the Sunpeak ever on their right.

Right. That meant that they were walking Fore, not Agn. But...where to? All that was Fore of the Barrens, this far in, was the Turmoilt. Wasn't it? Zaki and his caravan had journeyed for Ports into the desert. He knew not exactly how far but, he knew they would be no where near Uthar...unless they were on the edge of the Barrens. That would mean they were close to Sil De Moro. But they weren't in Sil De Moro yet. They had wanted nothing of the Barrens in their lands, claiming them to be an embarrassment, and so had happily given drawn their borders where the Barrens ended and plants began to grow again. There were no plants here in these sands. Thus, heading Fore...they would be heading for Numuin. That meant...they were on the war path.

Numuin was a rather wealthy city that sat near the border of Sil De Moro. Although Uthar was the capital city of Umar, Numuin was it's culture head. One would typically assume that the capital of a country would be the cultural head of the nation but, Uthar was just too far removed. It was a vital place of great import, both for keeping an eye on Norgraith, and a strong position militaristically for it was rather central to the entire inhabitable areas of Umar. However, Numuin was closer to the rest of the world. Sil De Moro had once prided itself on being the center of trade in the known world, and so with spices and clothing and music flowing from Sil De Moro, Numuin was always well informed as to the newest trends and happenings of the other kingdoms. This had of course changed when Maharrani had conquered Sil De Moro, but she had yet to venture into Umar. This camp that Zechariah was imprisoned in, as far as he knew, was the furthest her armies had marched into enemy territory. Numuin, was going to fall. No...wait...that wasn't it. Sumud.

Sumud was an old, mostly abandoned fortress that resided in the Barrens. It was once a mining outpost that sprung up around some valuable resources. And where there is wealth, there is the king's armies. Years ago, when Sil De Moro and Umar warred, it had been a stronghold that had held the front lines of the war. Numuin was settled after the war ended, and people left Sumud to live in a more hospitable climate. This day, it was still garrisoned but...it was nothing more than a punishment. Soldiers or officers who had found the ire of their superiors but hadn't the means to remove their political opposition, would try and get people reassigned to serve at Sumud. It was hot, dry, empty and boring. A miserable place to live. But...it's walls were still strong. If Maharrani could seize Sumud before Malik was fully aware of how prepared she already was for war, she would have gained a strong foothold from which she could take Numuin with ease, and once she had Numuin and it's ships, she would fall upon Uthar from land and sea and air.

Umar...didn't stand a chance. Maharrani was ready to move once again, and Umar would fall, and then Norgraith, and Maharrani would be Empress of the entire world.

”Father...” He whispered as he continued to dive into his despair. Would they be merciful to the innocent? So far, he and the others were safe but...he didn't suspect that would last long. Perhaps...perhaps on this journey...he could make it... He cursed himself inwardly. How stupid was he? He still had the same problems as before. Where would he go? To his right was his enemy to his left and back was the Barrens. He thought, perhaps if he could outpace the Draconians he might be able to make it Sumud before they did. Perhaps he could raise the alarm? But...he didn't know where Sumud lay, and without any way to navigate, he might easily get lost. He didn't even know how many days he was from Sumud. He might very well die of dehydration before he even got close. Perhaps...Looking Peakward he considered the possiblity of running into enemy territory. Those lands were rich in plants and food. He might be able to find a way to live in a forest or something as a hermit. But no. That was foolish. It might be possible but there was little guarantee that he would make it. Maybe, just maybe, Sumud would win, and he might be able to be rescued by them, or flee there during the nights as the siege was fought. That sounded like the best bet. Maybe, tired from the fighting, his guard would fall asleep, and he might be able to find a way to untie the rope and make an escape. It was his only hope for now.

Zechariah spent the rest of the day in his trance, trying to plan out his escape. He payed careful attention to the way his ropes were tied, to the habits of his guards which he had already done in camp but things were different out here on the march. He watched, took note and planned.
November 8th, 2020

While walking, he began to twists his wrists around, pulling on the rope in different ways, watching how they moved and the kind of leverage he could get on the knots. He was able to reach them, which surprised him as he thought the Draconians would have taken better care to make sure...

Pain flashed on his ribs from the left side and he stumbled and tripped and fell. He tried to cry out but found he had no air, and gasped feebly as the wagon, not caring a bit for his state of travel, drug him roughly through the sands. He struggled, seeing a shape over him and then felt his ribs explode again. He saw the Draconian guard standing over him, talking low and cursing him in their language. The other prisoners cowed away and avoided stepping on Zechariah as he was drug along.

”Up.” The Draconian ordered. “UP!” He roared as Zechariah lay there. It was painful, being dragged along like a sack of onions but he wasn't sure he could stand. However, risking the ire and consequent bruises from the guard was worse. So, tugging on the ropes for support, he scrambled, gasping and coughing to his feet, and stumbled along, trying to gain his footing as he found he was dizzy. “Can't escape. I kill and eat.” The guard said snarling at him. “Don't try again.” Then the guard walked off to his usual spot, a few paces away from the prisoners as though they were some foul diseased beggars.

”What were you doing?” whispered the cowardly asshole that always walked before him.

”Just...testing the ropes...” Zechariah groaned.

”Right. Here I thought you were supposed to be clever.”

”And here I thought you were supposed to be a guard and not a coward.” Zechariah spat back at the odious man.

Rather than argue back, the man just turned away, and his shoulders drooped more and he walked in silence. Guilt ran through Zechariah. It was true but, he shouldn't have said it. In the face of these things, cowardice was more than an understandable reaction. He wished someone else would come up with a plan, and together they might try to escape but he didn't think any of them would. In fact, like him, they probably thought that they were better off just accepting their fate or trying to run off on their own. Zechariah's heart tried to despair for the hundredth time but he refused to let it happen. The biggest hurdle, was the guards. They were strong, quick and alert. He could probably not be restrained at all and still have no chance of escaping. That said, it was reassuring to him that his bonds were not very well tied. If the chance came, and with a little time, he would likely be able to slip the ropes and get away. Where to...well...he'd just have to pray to Krulnac and hope that he favored him.

The sun fell, the shadows crawled towards him like claws, and night fell. The war band set up camp and Zechariah was untied and then retied to a large post with his hands behind his back. Theoretically, he could just slip the rope over the top of the post but...with his arms behind his back, there was no way for him to get his arms that high, unless he was able to crawl on the backs of others...or dislocate his shoulders...neither of which he thought would be very successful, as he glanced at the guard who took his usual seat staring, statue still, at them. Damn the guards and their inhuman capacity. As he thought about it, getting free of the restraints would not be very difficult at all. Getting away from a battalion of battle hardened monsters? That was the impossibility.

The darkness thickened, and the camp began to settle down for rest. Around him, tired from the long walking, the other prisoners began to nod off to sleep. Zechariah however, sat and stared at the guard, who stared back at him. His ribs hurt and he was exhausted and so, eventually, he to began to drift off to sleep. That was however, until he saw something in the darkness.

From around the corner of one tent, peered two glimmering eyes, reflecting the firelight. These were not cat eyes, nor were they Draconian. They might have been Jundar, Zechariah didn't know but from what he knew, Jundar didn't skulk. The eyes sat there, scanning to and fro, until eventually, the eyes met his, and stopped.

The Draconian noticed his gaze had shifted, and his eyes began to look around without moving his eyes. The muscles in the Draconian tensed, as though he was preparing to pounce. Zechariah didn't know why but all of a sudden, he began to struggle with his ropes again. “What? I'm just making sure you're not slacking on your job you stupid brute.” Zechariah suddenly spoke, and then spoke no more as the Draconian lashed out with the butt of his halberd, and Zechariah was cast into unconsciousness.

“You really like to cause commotions don't you?” Came a feminine voice. He groaned loudly as his head throbbed painfully. Bruised ribs, bruised skull, he was doing great at this. The memories of last night came back to him and he sat up abruptly, regretting his actions immediately as he saw stars and lost his balance, leaning back against the post. When he gathered himself he looked around, and saw that there seemed to be no commotion or new prisoners or anything. The being with those shining eyes must have escaped. He didn't know why he cared so much. Perhaps...just maybe...as they were skulking through the camp, perhaps they were enemies of the Draconians and might offer a helping hand to some prisoners. It was a slim hope, but it was a hope none the less...it was the first real hope he'd had since being captured. “Are you okay? Do you have a concussion?”

“No. I'm fine.” Zechariah lied. He probably didn't have a concussion that was true but, he certainly wasn't fine. His ribs hurt like hell and his head spun. “Just wanted to put the guard in his place you know?” He said dryly.

“You really are bad news aren't you.” She said, her face falling, becoming something akin to disgust.

“Yeah, get used to it. Everyone figures that out eventually.” Zechariah said. He didn't need to be rude but, he was tired, in pain and her words and look dug up painful memories he wished would just die. She wasn't wrong however. He was bad news.

The guards brought over breakfast and untied them enough to eat and drink and relieve themselves before they retied them to the back of the wagon, and yet again, the monotony resumed. However, this time, Zechariah did not enter his trance. He walked, with his head up. Trying to not attract the attention of his guards as he glanced around. He noticed that that one guard who had beat him yesterday glared at him, and also began to look around. Damn him...that one was way too observant. However, as the Rises continued on, he saw nothing of the those eyes or the one who might have owned them. He supposed, it was foolish to assume that those eyes would come out during the day. Eventually, he gave up and, looking down at his feet again, he began to enter his trance. One. Two. One....Two...and he began to fall back into his trance. The majority of his brain shutting down as he fell into his trance, operating mechanically. His eyes unfocused, and he moved his legs without thinking, or feeling, as though numb. Sand...rock...more sand...discarded skin of some snake...sand...rock...anomaly...more sand...rock...

Zechariah's head snapped up all at once. What? He thought. An anomaly?” Those just didn't show up. Or...maybe they did, he wasn't actually sure. However, one thing he was sure of, was that it should have been drawing far more attention than it was. If there was an anomaly this close, they should be experiencing some very unique magical effects. There was though, nothing out of the ordinary. Zechariah quickly ducked his head again, before the guard could notice his sudden alertness and, whilst keeping his head down, Zechariah looked to the side where he thought he had seen the anomaly.

Unsurprisingly, there was nothing there. It must have just been his imagination or maybe he really did have a concussion and was beginning to hallucinate some things out here in the heat. More likely however, it was a mirage. Zechariah sighed but, then there was something there. His eyes widened as he saw the strange figure standing many paces off. It seemed to be nothing more than the heat rising off the sands of the Barrens. However, there was notably, a lack of those heat waves. The approximate size of a human, standing there, idly watching the war band march on. The Barrens really were far more inhabited than most people gave them credit for. But who or...what...this thing was, it was certainly intelligent. The figure began moving, walking along with them. He could barely make it out and kept on losing sight of it as it would fade from his vision all together, only to reappear elsewhere a few moments later, watching a portion of the war band or another. It was scouting them. Counting them. This was certainly an enemy of the Draconians. Whether or not it was an ally or even related to the eyes last night, Zechariah didn't care. Hell...he'd take a Jundar attacking the war band if it meant that he could escape.

Zechariah followed the thing for as long as he could till eventually, he lost sight of it, and saw it no more for the rest of the day. On wards they marched, one foot in front of the next, until the sun was almost set. Then, as they'd done several times before, they methodically set up camp, ate dinner and went to bed. All the while though, Zechariah's eyes were darting around, looking for any hint or sign of something out of the ordinary. He saw nothing, but that did not deter him as he sat up, late into the night. The guard looked around also at first but...eventually stopped, getting bored of seeing nothing. As the night deepened, and exhaustion began to set upon Zechariah, he suddenly saw it. Only catching the faintest glint of light at the right angle, the eyes were before him. Not five paces away, looking right at him.

Zechariah started in surprise, drawing the attention of the guard and the eyes immediately disappeared. The guard gave him a cold glare, and Zechariah tried to play it off that he had jumped from some kind of dream, shaking his head tiredly. Eventually the guard turned away. Damn it. He had and... and the eyes were back, glinting faintly in the very dim light. He wanted to try to speak to it but with the guard so close, even a whisper would be heard. The being, whoever it was, knelt slowly and though he saw no hand, began to draw very very lightly in the sand. The sand! Looking around, he saw no footprints. How was that possible? He looked at the eyes which looked from him, down to what was being drawn very shallowly in the sand. A rune. A rune...he understood. 'Ghabar Rijali'. Zechariah's eyes went wide. This...this was one of the Dustmen Elites.

He wanted to speak, to ask. Was this Nawfa? Could he? Should he? Just as he was about to try to whisper as quietly as possible, the eyes disappeared once again, and though he listened carefully, looked around, there was no sign that the eyes were here. Not even the rune it had drawn in the sand remained. As quietly as it had come, it had also left. But Zechariah's heart soared. He was going to be saved. The Dustmen were here, and this was their land. No one walked the Barrens as naturally as the Dustmen. Even the Jundar. The Jundar survived the Barrens simply because they were so incomprehensibly tough. The Dustmen survived, because they understood the Barrens.

Zechariah suppressed a smile as hope swelled within his breast. He didn't know what they would do, or how they would do it, but he was going to be fine. With this hope and knowledge that he wasn't abandoned, Zechariah leaned back against the pole, and slept peacefully, despite his bondage and captivity. He slept well, for he knew everything was going to be just fine.