Nivenmage

A harsh, dry wind picked up as Tyril trudged with uncomfortable difficulty through the deep sand. It gave way beneath her feet with every step, and she struggled to remove her foot every time, resulting in sand being kicked up. With every new step the sand she kicked up was caught by the wind and joined the sand that was already blowing in her face. If she had been able to look around she would have seen that the sky, while pale blue earlier, had now turned red, and that her companions were struggling just as much as she was. She had her hand over her eyes to shield them, and briefly wondered how much longer they would be able to carry on when she walked into the person in front of her. The figure didn't even lose its footing, leading Tyril to assume that she must have collided Prince Myca. She dared a glance and found that she could see clearly, for she now stood in the lee created by the bulk of his body.

"There's a lake over there!" He shouted, and pointed into the distance but Tyril couldn't see anything through the sandstorm. "It will calm down closer to the water!"

Nodding quickly, she followed him and indeed the scathing sand's fury slowly abated. Here the ground was firmer and there was less sand to be lifted by the wind. To her right she saw that the firm earth descended into the dull water of a lake. Around her the others were now removing the garments they had wrapped around their faces and were looking disgruntled. By keeping Myca between her and the wind, Tyril was now much more at ease.

"I lost the tracks," he said, "almost an hour ago, but they must have headed this way; this is the only water in the desert."

"They can't be that far ahead of us." Deliam said, now thoroughly exasperated. "We were moving the whole time..."

"The Wild Daghym are much more comfortable in the desert than any of us." Myca answered. "They have adapted to the Barren Lands...effectively." He also appeared frustrated as he looked vainly towards the south. "But they have to be here, we know they have a settlement somewhere. The river Grenn runs through here and it's the only water in the whole desert."

"This is a river?" Tyril said surprised.

"It's pooled here a bit, but it carries on." Myca explained. And looking more closely Tyril could see that the lake's water had a definite current.

"Let's follow it, then." Deliam said, determined not to halt for too long. "That sceptre is powerful, too much for them. They don't even know what they have, but if they learn how to use it, the animals may once again be turned into Soulless."

They walked along the lake, much faster now that the sand wasn't as deep. Then, hearing a loud groan from Deliam, Tyril followed his gaze and saw a dark structure appear gradually from behind the veil of red dust. It was a building surrounded by high walls, and a single spire rose from its roof.

"A fortress!" Deliam exclaimed with a pained expression.

"We're too late..." Nedann started.

"No! Our task is more difficult now, but still crucial." Deliam uttered, determination painted on his face. "We cannot let them keep that sceptre...war...death...will ensue. It's an evil thing. It would give them too much power. It should be in the right hands..."

"Would those be your hands?" Myca asked sarcastically, but Deliam ignored him completely. It seemed the loss of Crelin had shaken him, and Tyril felt the same. She had spent the hours of journeying trying to make it seem real, for she found it hard to imagine a world in which Crelin did not exist. He had been there for as long as she could remember and although she had been just a child at first, he had been a constant as she grew up. Finally, she had gained enough rank to report directly to him, and now, just a year later, he was gone. The finality refused to set in, and she subconsciously assumed he was back at Pyriam, poring over papers, looking up at her with his inscrutable expression...