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_ Rheyk Sha'anidad quietly navigated the crowded streets of the Golden Ring that surrounded the largest lake on Tal, his ever-wary eyes keeping vigilant watch over his surroundings and the people therein. An overwhelming majority of such people were sergals, particularly of the southern clan, their fur being short to cope with the extreme changes of the desert, and colored to blend with the light sand that filled so much of Tal. They were bipedal creatures, their legs and talon-like paws adapted for running and combat, which fit their fierce, yet graceful look. There were some individuals whose fur was thicker or darker - or, in many cases, both - which indicated they had northern blood within them, but had either never had any part with the northern clans personally, or had denounced them and sought refuge here._

_ It was the perfect place to hide. Even if he would stand out by being one of very few agudners, there were enough people around that even those who might be looking for a stranger who did not seem to belong would not find him. Shrouded by a hooded cloak in spite of the day's heat, one would not even be able to pick him out as a minority species in this area, effectively making him disappear. Furthermore, he made no actions to call attention to himself. He spoke with the vendors of the markets courteously, even when haggling over the prices of their wares, and always spoke with as little import as possible. He knew that if he were to even give the slightest of hints as to why he was here and was traveling so much that the enemy would certainly learn of it, and that simply was unacceptable to him. So he spoke of the weather - it was always dry, sunny, and oppressively hot - the wares the merchants had to offer, and of course, about the food and drink of the local establishments. While mostly simply pleasantries meant to avoid any sort of discussion about which he wished to keep a secret, it was good to know which establishments were good, and which weren't in the opinions of the locals. He would be able to find a cover much more effectively armed with that knowledge - a rougher establishment, so long as he stayed out of the focal point of attention, would dissuade any spies from making a move on him. He shook his head a bit to himself. Who was he kidding? There were no spies looking for him beyond attempting to locate and identify him. The north did not take him seriously - not yet. That would come with time, as all things have a sometimes-infuriating tendency to do._

_ It was late in the morning when Rheyk finally found refuge in a crowded, dimly lit tavern that was tattered and worn with use as well as time by many people who most oft looked as tatter and worn as the walls within which they gathered. Nary an individual paid the shorter, concealed agudner as he carefully shouldered his way into the establishment. The agudner was well shorter than the average sergal at just over five feet in height. The hood obscured his face, which was a muzzle that was softer, and yet somewhat like that of a sergal's, if shorter and less pointed. His sandy brown fur was rather similar to a southerner's coloration, but several shades browner, even when not hidden by his cloak. His feet were hooves with two toes, with thin lower legs that widened out by the time they ended at his hips. His legs were like a sergal's in that they were digitigrade, even if he only had hooves and not paws to meet with the ground. He could still run far enough, and fast enough, to hold his own. The only potentially unique aspect of his appearance were his eyes - a bright, vibrant, sapphire blue that stood out against his fur, though well obscured from the casual observer by his hooded cloak._

"What do you want?" the bartender - a southern sergal with pale beige fur and the usual hazel eyes - asked tiredly, if unpleasantly enough, whilst wiping down the roughly textured counter.

_ _Rheyk was mildly impressed this place even had a wooden counter, considering just how rare - and expensive - wood like that was, rough or not. "I would like a pint of whatever you have," the agudner replied shortly, if quietly and respectfully enough.

The bartender snorted a bit, but turned to grab a mug, filling it with the house mead, before placing it on the counter heavily and grunting. "That will be twenty five shells," he said, clearly seeming uninterested in the individual who was currently his customer.

Rheyk felt the corner of his mouth twitch in distaste, but he otherwise kept his demeanor as neutral as possible. With a slow, short nod of his head, he pulled out his small bag, pulling out a small, dry, but intact looking pine nut. He then set it down on the counter and quietly said, "That should be more than enough for the price which you ask." With that, he took the remainder of his money and the pint of mead with him to an empty seat, where he could be left in peace to drink and observe the people around him. He noticed first the dull roar of conversation that pervaded the place. None of the voices were raised enough above the others for more than a couple seconds, which made listening in to any conversation difficult at the very least, if not downright impossible. With a small nod to himself, he took a sip of the mead, before looking into the glass. While not bad mead, it certainly was not the best he had ever tasted, that much was certain. He wrinkled his nose slightly, before he took another small sip with a small, almost resigned sigh.

At the same time, three sergals made their way through the door - one taking the appearance of a northerner, and two appearing to be of southern origin. They appeared to be together, so Rheyk did not pay very close attention - any northern/southern aggression would not come from between those individuals. He set down the pint, before he noticed with growing apprehension that they were making their way to his table. He carefully wrapped a hand around the hilt of his dagger, keeping his face neutral and as obscured as possible. He did not rise to meet the sergals when they paused within striking distance. Instead, he nodded his head slightly. "Morning," he said politely, before gesturing to the seats around the table. "Please, sit. What brings you me?" he asked, before taking another sip of his drink. His voice, while laced with an accent that harkened a much older time, was on the lower end of the spectrum, easily baritone, if not bass in tone.

"You are the agudner?" The northerner spoke first, his voice more tenor in range. The question was not an accusation or one spoken in malice. It was asking for confirmation, or almost stating a fact.

"Yes, I am," Rheyk replied. "What do you need from me?" he asked quietly, but pleasantly enough.

"We heard your plea to the southern council to move troops to protect civilian populations from the ravages of the north," said one of the southerners, her voice somewhat low for a female, yet unmistakably feminine in tone.

"I am sure you heard their dismissal and denouncement of it, then," Rheyk said, only slightly allowing his frustration over that to seep into his tone. The fact that not only had the southern council dismissed his suggestion to move to guard the northern reaches of their territory, they had denounced it as heresy and attempts to - what was the term? "Incite rebellion against the neighboring nation to the north." Yes. Those were the words of the pitiless cowards who would have the blood of countless thousands upon their heads - thousands who needn't to perish at the hands of those who were planning to do nothing less than subjugate all of their dominion. He could care less about that - but the slaughter and ravaging of those who had no part in the conflict - that he could not bear to stand by and tarry any longer.

"That's why we are here," said the third sergal. "We have decided that against the judgment of the council, it is imperative to draw the northern forces away from the villages in the southlands. We cannot stand by and violate our duty, even if we are no longer in the service of the army."

"So what are you proposing?" the agudner inquired quietly. "That we create a small band of fighters to take on Rain and her forces? It's a suicide mission at best..." he said, shaking his head a bit. "We won't be able to meet in decisive battles like the east, or even the south, as unprepared as they are. We'd have to ambush, overwhelm and destroy quickly, and then disappear."

The agudner's words were met by sly grins. "The northerners fear nothing more than that which is unknown. If done right, not only would this save lives, this could give a psychological blow to the northerners like nothing has so far."

"I do not care about that. I only care about cleaning up the mess that the southern government has made before anyone realizes they have made it."

***

Rheyk quietly awoke as the first rays of yellow sunshine filtered through the softly shaded windows. The only sound of the morning was the stillness of it, save for the sounds of his breathing and the light pulsing of his heart in his ears. The room was as empty as he had remembered it before slipping off to sleep the night before, mostly consisting of four walls, a door, a washbasin, a rather generous if plain bed, and the windows with white sashes that filtered in the sunlight. His belongings were stashed in the corner as he had left them, the majority of them being in his bag, save for his armor and weaponry, which were piled neatly nearby. He sat up on the edge of his bed, remaining otherwise still for a moment only breathing in slowly, and breathing out again. Breathe in, and release. After a moment of this, he stood up and quietly stretched himself as he headed to the washbasin to clean off the grime from his face. He had just come back from a several day trip through the desert with a new set of volunteers. Fortunately, they all were already militarily trained, so the only aspect they would need to master was coordination with this particular group of fighters. That would be today's goal - time was paramount. At any moment, word would reach them of northerners moving in, and they would have to move to deter them. They could not afford to not be at least somewhat prepared for that.

With a quiet, tired, sigh, Rheyk finished washing his face and looked at himself in the mirror - worn and obscuring as the image might have been. His sharp, gaunt face looked back at him with bright pools of sapphire. His sandy fur was short, yet somewhat thick, a pair of ebony horns curving out of the top, back part of his head. Rheyk moved from the washbasin, breaking his eyes away from the slightly grotesque apparition the mirror gave him for a reflection as he crossed the room to his belongings. He carefully inspected each piece of his armor, before he secured them to himself properly, leaving no potential problem to escape his eyes. While he wasn't expecting to go into battle today, he always made a point of putting on his armor as if he were. After making sure his armor was properly secured, he grabbed his bow, a rare artifact made by one of the monks in the mountains and given to him as a gift of his coming of age, made from one of the Eltus Plants in the Lyvank Mountains. Once he had slung the wooden bow and a quiver of metal arrows over his back, he took his daggers, short and slightly carved in the blade, and placed them on his waist before securing them for easy access if needed. Finally, he took up his helm, and then placed it on his head, before he turned back to the mirror to look at himself in the reflective, if imperfect, material.

Six months. Six months today since my simple life was turned on itself, and I was cast away from the mountains of my home. Six months since I have drunk of the cool, fresh waters of the river, six months since I have seen the green that was the joy of my heart. Six months, and instead of the greenery of the forests, I now wade through the red of death and battle. Why must my path take me from the greenery and into the deserts? Why must I carry the burdens of others upon my backs? Why?

_ _ He took a deep breath before letting out a small sigh. The questions were pointless. They were always pointless. Asking them was the way towards madness, and yet he could not stop asking them, day after day. He grunted. No matter what the questions were, he could see where his path led for now, and he would follow it to the very end, asking questions all the while and keeping his eyes open. That was the best he could do, could he not?

He turned a final time from the mirror, took up his bag, and made his way out of the room where he had spent the night.

Downstairs was the tavern - the same tavern where he and three others had their fateful meeting and had set on this endeavor to protect those who could not protect themselves from the northern aggression. The tavern was as worn and rough around the edges as he had remembered it, and it seemed even more boisterous and full of life than usual, full of both sergals and agudners. Since the north had waged its campaign against his kind, killing those who would oppose their general Rain and start a resistance force and enslaving the rest, many had fled Laono to come to Gold Ring, the city that they had once built long, long ago. It gave him the chance to blend in further, and even get some news on the northerners' movements. Today, however, he was reticent, merely nodding his head as some of the patrons quietly greeted him in caution for any probing ears. He made his way out of the tavern and down into the labyrinthine neighborhood nearby. He took the winding and hopelessly confusing streets by memory, each turn carefully remembered and executed swiftly to ensure that nobody could have followed him there. He had no delusions about Rain's ignorance of his band of fighters, but he also knew nonetheless that if the group were to stay alive, their meeting places could never be allowed to be found, much less infiltrated. Once he had found the residence he was seeking out, he gave two short knocks, and then two long knocks after a few seconds' pause, followed immediately by two more quick knocks. There was a ten or fifteen seconds' delay before the door was opened. An unarmored agudner woman opened the door with a silent nod of greeting, sweeping herself and door alike to the side to let Rheyk pass inside, before closing and securing it quickly. "Your friends are waiting further inside," she said shortly, yet politely, deliberately limiting her conversation with the armed agudner.

Rheyk nodded his head quietly in reply, with a reserved, "thank you," all but murmured, as he quickly made his way through the house to the courtyard in the back, where a dozen or so individuals were gathered, all armed. He quietly nodded to them, before closing the back door to the house behind him. "What news for today?" he asked simply, wasting no time on pleasantries nor banter.

"The north is reportedly starting to sweep through the Sailzane desert as we speak. It is only an expeditionary force, so we have been told, but it is looking more and more likely that they will attempt to invade the south through the desert. In terms for our concerns, there are three villages in their way - Arbristhene, Eastwater, and Southern Crossing."

Rheyk resisted the urge to curse. Three villages? "Which one will be expected to be hit first?" he asked the person who had replied to him - a southern Sergal male named Anonn.

"Arbristhene is the most likely candidate," replied Anonn. "It's the most western, but it is the shortest of the three from hostile territory. It's a day's travel less from Colthlan than the other two areas, and the route is almost entirely wooded, save the last three leagues of desert."

Rheyk nodded his head in affirmation, clearly not pleased to hear this. "How many are in Arbristhene?"

"Approximately eleven hundred," another agudner replied. "According to our intelligence estimates."

Rheyk nodded quietly again, his face twisted in thought. "Alright. We'll head for Arbristhene, and hope that is where Rain decided to strike first." He then turned to the others. "Call up your units. We need to move immediately."

With that, he left the others to their tasks, as he moved to get to their rendezvous point well outside of the Gold Ring.

Following that meeting and the marshaling of all the volunteers, some scant forty individuals who were mainly of the sergal variety, there was three days' worth of trekking through the desert towards the northwestern part of the Sailzane desert towards Arbristene. It was a miserable time, between the oppressive heat thanks to the sun on the sand and the sometimes ferocious winds that kicked up blankets of sand that got in their eyes, noses, mouths, ears, and most infuriatingly, their fur. Many of them, including Rheyk were used to this, and had covered their faces to minimize the agitation, but there were those who were not so well prepared and suffered through as a result. The only comment about that Rheyk had about that was, "make sure you have everything you need for next time - and in the meantime, learn to live with the consequences of not being prepared."

The nights were just as uncomfortable as the days. Without the sun to keep everything warm, the temperatures dropped quickly at night. Even with the thick sleeping bags they had packed, they had to huddle close to one another, rather like a herd, in order to keep from contracting hypothermia. When it was someone's shift to keep watch, it was almost torture to make the rounds, alone and shivering, with a single thought: please let this end so I can go back to the warmth of the others. It was, particularly for those who were used to the warm days of the desert and little else, a discomfort. But fortunately, these volunteers were once in the army, and were known for being tough bastards. Not once did someone complain about the temperatures, nor the nearly madman's pace they were taking by day. By the third day, it was decided they were simply not moving quickly enough and decided to keep going through the night. It was slow, cold progress, and the only way that they could even locate one another was by the darkened silhouettes that blotted out the wild constellations along the horizons, among the gentle dunes of the western Sailzane.

It was a crisp, clear morning that greeted them as the sun rose to reveal the town of Arbristhene within a league of their position. The sand had flattened out, and there appeared to be little, if any, wind whatsoever. The town lay low, just like the sandy floor, only slightly darker in color than the sands that encompassed it. On the horizon, the faint color of the Talyxian forests that lay beyond the city, the almost fleshlike pink all but obscured in the morning sunrise. The small band of fighters continued their trek across the decidedly more packed sand, each taking to their own thoughts and making not a sound other than that of their movements. Rheyk was no exception. He every so often looked up at the town ahead of them and wondered to himself. Did we choose our mission wisely? Or did Rain consider this possibility and choose to travel to Eastwater first while we chase down a ghost here in Arbristhene? He shook his head ever so slightly.What will be will be. If our trek is in vain, at the very least, we will know that the people of Arbristhene are safe for the time being. Furthermore, I could have more time to prepare the group before we have to engage in more fighting.

He quietly hummed the start of an old, familiar tune to himself. I wonder if she knows, he said to himself. I wonder if that is why she does not send out the full wrath of her forces to destroy us while we are small, instead of what we all have been lead to believe that she doesn't find us a threat to her dominance in the region. He was slightly troubled by this, but he picked up his head a bit as he heard those nearest to him picking up on his humming and matching it. Before long, all of them were humming the tune lowly. Few of them knew where that tune had come from, and fewer still even knew what the words themselves were. Perhaps none of them really understood them at all; though all that really mattered was that it gave them the encouragement that was so desperately needed, time and again.

That alone was enough.

They stopped humming and speaking amongst one another once they had reached the outskirts of the town, the sun having fully risen above the horizon to a blazing morning of light and heat. The small band of fighters split up into units of no more than ten individuals each, quickly fanning out and heading into the down to spread out and seem to disappear, in order to avoid causing a scene that might alert the northerners to their presence. It was agreed that if there was no sign of the northerners in the village, that they would quickly move through Arbristhene and towards the forest, where the northerners were certain to be moving in from. They kept low and quiet, keeping off of the main streets as possible and always keeping alert watch around themselves at all times. The element of surprise, while their greatest ally, could also quickly turn into their worst enemy if turned upon themselves. But as the sun crept further into daytime and its prominence as the cruel master of a fallow sky, they found no signs of northern forces inside of the town.

It was a few hours before anyone saw the smokestacks rising into the sky behind the town that indicated the northerners' presence. It was quickly, unanimously, and separately agreed to move through quickly and meet the northerners before they had a chance to make a move on the town. Why they had decided to move so late was beyond their understanding - already there were enough stories from the East that had birthed nothing short of animosity and dread towards Rain's followers that had never been seen in such intensity and numbers in all of history. Surely, the northerners would not hide and attack sneakily, considering that fear and brutality were their primary weapons. But to attack well after dawn was unheard of. Perhaps that was the goal - to throw the villagers off-balance so as to make the most profound psychological impact as possible, or perhaps to show that they feared nothing the southerners could throw at them, and that they wished for all to see what had been done. As profoundly twisted and wrong her plans were, Rheyk had to acknowledge that Rain had always been one to display a cunning and intelligence not easily found in those of her kin.

Once they had passed through Arbristhene, they quickly regrouped and advanced on the northern forces' camp. Considering that they would be seen regardless at this point, all secrecy was abandoned in favor of speed. Certainly some of the enemy would notice them, and would have ample time to arm themselves, but many would certainly not - at least, that was the hope. The band of fighters rushed onto the northerners quickly, arms at the ready and poised to strike. A small wave of panic rushed through the camp as the northerners briefly fell under the incoming wave of fighters. Nearly a tenth of the northerners were slain before anyone in their camp had the wits about them to arm themselves and fight back. Though, once the northerners had done just that, the invading force was pushed back, losing a half-dozen soldiers in the process.

Rheyk found himself so surrounded by his fellow soldiers that he was unable to do more than watch. He tried to move to get himself more space to be able to aid in the fight, but found that all but impossible. "Give me room!" he bellowed to the soldiers around him. They complied, pushing back against the northerners at least enough to give him room to move and join in the fight. He pulled an arrow from the quiver, knocking the almost alien-looking projectile to his bow and quickly firing at a northerner who had managed to push through enough to strike at him. The arrow pierced the northerner's head through their eye, poking out the back in a small splatter of blood and gore. The stricken northerner cried out once exactly before collapsing to the ground, lifeless.

Rheyk had already turned and knocked another arrow by then, not even bothering to watch and make sure that they were actually dead. He knew it from the moment the arrow struck. The next soldier he shot in the chest, the black arrow piercing through the thick metal armor that they were wearing enough to tear into flesh. This sergal dropped their weapon, like the others, but did not die. They crashed to their knees, but quickly dove for their weapon. Rheyk saw that coming and first struck them on their face with his bow to distract them, before he dove for it himself. He reached it first - a well-made halberd with a pike on the opposite side of the axe end of the long, staff-like weapon. He gave a hard kick at the sergal and barely heard the sounds of bone cracking over the sound of the battle. The sergal cried out in pain, a desperate, almost animal call. Rheyk rolled to his feet and quickly brought the pike to bear, pointing the spear end at the northerner's head. "Stay down if you wish to live," he growled, before he parried a pike from another northerner. He shoved back hard and, in spite of being a foot shorter than the sergal, knocked them back enough to bring the halberd around and slash viciously at their head. The metal helm stopped the blade from slicing though their skull, but it was enough to knock the northerner to the ground. He wasted no time, slashing at the exposed neck and cutting off the attacker's head in one swift, sickening stroke. Rheyk turned away at the rather large spray of blood, the sound of the blade cutting flesh and bone a wet and stomach-turning sound. Quickly after the sergal's head had been cleaved off, a large pool of blood formed, pulsing from still-functioning arteries, before slowing into the trickle of death. He forced himself to look at it for the briefest of moments, before tearing his eyes away and turning back to the battle raging around him.

After a moment, he realized that there were no other enemy troops within reach, and so he began to move to find more of them. He quickly found that the northerners were retreating, making haste towards the alien forests of the northwest and away from Arbristhene. A cheer went up with the defense, as they pursued them far enough to ensure they would not think about a counterattack. Once the surviving northerners, some scant half of their original strength, had fled, turned back to the northern camp to gather their own dead and look for any supplies they could use. In all, they lost nine soldiers, four of them fresh recruits. Rheyk dreaded the letters that he would write to their families, if they had any, explaining the circumstances of their death. He quietly questioned for a moment if what they were doing was worth the cost of doing so.

It was then that he stumbled on the injured northerner, whose armor markings indicated she was the captain of the force. Rheyk knew it was a she, because the north never placed a male in charge of large groups of forces. He looked down at her, and quietly asked, "do you intend to continue fighting us, or do you wish to spare yourself?" It was a question he asked whenever he could. He always remained hopeful, even if the usual answer did not make him optimistic.

"Never," she spat, blood gurgling in her throat and foaming at her lips, which only matched her murderous look. "I will never surrender to an agudner like you. You belong as a slave, not even as a soldier, much less the leader of any military."

Rheyk nodded his head sadly. The answer was always the same. "So be it," he replied, before he struck her on the head with the axe part of his halberd, wincing as he heard the cracking of her skull and the sick sound of the halberd hacking through skin, flesh, and organ alike. He left the halberd embedded in her head and turned away, a nearly angry scowl on his blood-streaked face. He had done it partially to make her death as quick and painless as possible, and partially so he wouldn't have to hear her screams.