Vol. II Chapter VIII: Sahzarun - City of Cloth and Leather

The sun had not yet risen over the horizon when the small group set off again. 

A cool morning mist hung over the marshes, thin white veils swirling around, and the air smelled of damp earth.

Lucius pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and fastened the straps of his boots

His disguise was worthy of a wealthy merchant’s attire.

Marcthain had impressed upon them that from now on, they had to avoid any trace that could reveal their true identities. 

That was why Lucius kept checking nervously whether his leather doublet, embroidered with golden threads, really concealed the bandages underneath which he hid several small vials of Essences. 

Tagunel, wearing nearly the same disguise, just many sizes smaller, was also meticulously checking everything again.

Melissa snorted softly and pushed a small stone aside with her hoof. 

She inspected the collars and shackles that she and Liviana had to wear with a critical eye. 

Otherwise, they wore only tattered garments, full of holes and stains.

“Do we really have to put these on already?” she grumbled. 

“We’re going to be on the road until evening anyway.”

Liviana, who was busy re-fastening one of the crates on the cart, explained, “Once we’re back on the road, a patrol could cross our path at any moment. If our disguises aren’t perfect then, we’re in trouble.”

Melissa had no reply to that, though it didn’t ease her annoyance in the slightest.

They harnessed the strange draft animal whose long, slender trunk and scaly skin were still unsettling. 

It snorted, rolled its greenish eyes, and stomped nervously on the spot.

“Shh, shh, it’s all right,” Liviana whispered, patting its neck.

Slowly, the cart began to move.

The wheels first squeaked over the muddy ground, then rolled more smoothly as they reached firmer terrain.

Tagunel held the reins, sitting at the front with Lucius on the driver’s bench, while Melissa and Liviana rode shackled in the back among the other goods.

Several hours passed. 

The marshland grew thinner, the terrain drier. 

Soon, they were traveling through flat plains where the wind rippled through tall, yellowish grass, and birds with long beaks shrieked overhead.

At some point, they saw a cloud of dust rapidly approaching in the distance.

Tagunel leaned over toward Lucius. 

“This is where it gets serious. We have to play our roles perfectly.”

Lucius felt his throat tighten and he thought of what Marcthain had said.

If your cover is blown, no one will come to save you.

But he nodded bravely.

“We’ll manage.”

The halfling gave him a crooked grin. 

“You’re starting to sound almost like Mar.”

A short time later, they could clearly see the riders who trailed the dust cloud behind them. 

The banners on their lances fluttered black and gold in the wind, embroidered with the emblem of Yashar: a curved saber entwined with a snake. 

They wore splendid scale armor, with long cloaks draped over it.

They signaled the cart to stop. 

As one of the riders approached Lucius, the others were already beginning to inspect the wagon and its cargo.

Melissa felt the cold metal of her shackles around her wrists as one of them rode past her.

 Everything inside her screamed to break free of her chains and show these men what she was capable of, but she held herself back.

“Are you merchants? It’s currently forbidden to cross the Plains of Luqth without a pass. If you don’t have papers, we’ll have to arrest you and confiscate all your goods.” 

The rider’s voice wasn’t angry but firm and authoritative.

Lucius squared his shoulders and cleared his throat.

“My name is Lucan di Almarath, and this is my business partner Brandhel of Regitsu. We’re bringing our tribute to the Lords of Yashar, who are gathering in Sahzarun these days.”

Tagunel nudged Lucius, who then pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to the rider.

“We’ve been invited to discuss potential trade relations.”

While the rider studied the paper with a furrowed brow, Lucius and Tagunel exchanged anxious glances. 

But after a few seconds, the man folded it up again and handed it back to Lucius.

“We’re done here. Move along!” he finally called out, and with a curt nod, he bid farewell to the supposed merchants, and his squad rode off again.

Lucius exhaled deeply, while Tagunel smiled in satisfaction.

The wagon rattled on, carrying them eastward. 

More and more frequently now, they saw patrols and caravans. 

Many of them, like themselves, had slaves in tow, only those slaves were not just pretenders.

Melissa’s stomach churned as they passed a resting caravan and she saw the emaciated and battered Selvarin slaves sitting there with empty eyes.

Then, some time later, as the sun dipped lower and the sky was awash in a fiery red glow, something finally appeared on the horizon:

Sahzarun.

Before them, the camp rose like a vast city of cloth, leather, and fluttering banners.

Thousands of tents in black, green, and gold stood in concentric circles, richly embroidered with symbols of suns, snakes, or curved sabers. 

Drums thundered somewhere in the center, drowned out by the cacophony of soldiers’ voices. 

Along the main paths, pack animals stomped under heavy loads, and dust clouds hung over everything like a dense shroud.

And in the middle, clearly visible, rose the Tent of the Lords, its red drapes glowing like blood in the evening sun. 

And there, amidst it all, the rulers of Yashar gathered in their own mobile city to plan their next campaigns.

Slowly and creaking, the wagon rolled closer.

Barely had they reached the outer rows of tents when they were stopped by the first guard. 

The guard glared sternly into the wagon bed, checked papers, and finally pointed to a broad, dusty square between the tents.

“Line up over there with the other merchants wishing to present their gifts to the Lords. And not one step further until you’re called!”

Tagunel urged the draft animal forward, and they parked themselves in the square beside countless others.

Then they joined the long line with their slaves and some other goods. 

Everywhere stood men in ornate robes, boasting in grand gestures about prices, quality, and quantities. 

The air was thick with the smell of sweat and smoke.

Melissa tapped her hoof nervously on the ground, her chains jingled softly. 

Liviana kept her gaze lowered, though Lucius could see her tail twitching, a sign of extreme tension.

After endless minutes, the line inched forward only slowly. 

In front of them stood a portly merchant with bolts of elaborate fabrics.

His bearded face glistened with sweat, and a turban embroidered with gold sat atop his head.

“What are you offering?” he asked, panting from the heat.

Lucius nodded cautiously. 

“We… uh… bring trade goods and…” 

His gaze flicked briefly to Melissa and Liviana.

“…Other things.”

The merchant nodded approvingly.

“They look high quality. Selvarin, no less. Trying to make an impression, are you?”

With a booming laugh, he nudged Lucius in the side.

The voices coming from the Lords Tent soon grew louder, more threatening. 

They could hear the clash of metal and the splintering of wood.

“It’s the same every time!” the merchant remarked.

“First they argue for days about raids, new borders, and who gets to call the shots, and then they spend days drinking afterward.”

At that moment, a group of soldiers stomped across the square.

At their head was a man of immense stature, with black hair tied in a long braid. 

His cloak was trimmed with fur, a spiked saber hung at his belt that was taller than Lucius whole body, and his bare arms were covered in scars. 

He shoved the guards aside and forced his way into the Lords Tent and the noise from inside grew even louder.

The merchant glanced around as if to make sure no one was listening, then lowered his voice:

“That’s Lord Calzorak, ruler of the eastern steppes. Dangerous man. He commands half an army of riders who follow him without question. They say he’s demanding the right to lead the next campaign.”

An hour later, the line still hadn’t moved much, and the tension within Lucius’ group was becoming palpable.

“Just be patient. Once we’re inside, we’ll carry on as planned,” Tagunel whispered reassuringly to the others.

Eventually, shouting erupted from the Lords Tent. 

A man flew backward out of the entrance, landing lifeless on the ground, a deep gash running across his entire body.

Then Calzorak emerged, sword in hand. 

Stomping angrily, he left the tent and strode directly past the line of merchants.

His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Melissa, and he stopped abruptly, his gaze slowly roaming from her horns to her eyes and down to her hooves.

“What… is that?” he asked in a rough voice.

Tagunel raised his hands.

“A gift for the Lords of Yashar, your Highness. Part of our tribute.”

Calzorak stepped closer, his shadow falling over Melissa. 

He grabbed her chin roughly, turning her face from side to side. 

Melissa let it happen, though her eyes blazed with fury while her chains jingled softly.

“Wild. Untamed,” murmured Calzorak. 

Then he let her go and turned to Tagunel. 

“I’ll take her.”

Lucius’ throat tightened, but not from fear but from rage, from hatred. 

His hands trembled, and he had to hold himself back to keep from acting rashly.

Tagunel forced himself to smile. 

“Ah, she’s not for sale, your Highness. We wish to present her to the other Lords first as…”

Calzorak’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“I didn’t ask.”

Tagunel said nothing.

Lucius’ left eye twitched uncontrollably as he looked at Melissa but she shook her head almost imperceptibly as she met his gaze. 

Don’t do it.

But Calzorak merely beckoned two of his men. 

“Take her to my tent.”

The soldiers roughly dragged Melissa away.

Lucius stepped forward, but a sword blocked his path and Calzorak gave him a cold, deadly look.

“Stay where you are. Or die here.”

Then the soldiers took Melissa away, and Calzorak followed them into the maze of tents, while Lucius could only stare after them, unable to utter a word.

His heart pounded so loudly that he could barely hear Calzorak disappearing.

Inside his head, a voice screamed that he had to go after her. 

But he stood frozen, caught between fear, rage, and the knowledge that he would endanger everyone if he acted now.

And so, there was nothing he could do as she was dragged away.