45th of Vhalar 720
The howling sandstorms had abated as Demda made her way north, through the slaver's corridor, giving way to milder winds, with the occasional dust-devil sprouting up from the updraft. That was a small discomfort to deal with, and occasional at that. Demda's attire protected her from the worst of the sandstorms, a little squal kicking up dust wouldn't bother her much. As she arrived within sight of the shoreline, she stopped her thorned horse. There would likely be slavers patrolling this area. The raiders made their way along the coast, up through Nashaki from Athart. While their objection was more toward the transport of slaves, they weren't averse to capturing them if they thought a stray traveler was worth the trouble. They certainly weren't reliable when it came to assisting others on the road.
So Demda kept well away from the coast, aided by the special compass that she'd found in the dusty dunes south of the passage from Korlasir. She came up through the Scimitar, the southern fertile region, where the jungles of Athart mingled with the dunes of the Hotlands, and gave way to an expanse of arable lands. Demda had found help there, in a way. Stocking up on water for herself and her horse, and some rations besides.
On the saddle of her horse, she kept on an even path upwards through the desert, until the structures of the Crescent dock were to be spotted far to the northwest. It might've been another mirage for all she knew, a trick of the eyes. But her compass and the time she'd spent following the northward pass told her that she would be in the vicinity, so in this case, she decided to trust her sense of direction, and her eyes.
But it was getting past the twilight hours. Soon the sun would be up, and in all of its blighted fury poured upon the sands. She slipped from the saddle gently, going forth to caress her thorned horse on the snout, with a smile and a comforting murmur for him. He grunted, and hooved the ground while she rummaged through his saddlebags for the provisions she still had from when she'd departed Nashaki.
Her hand slipped into the bag but grazed something she hadn't noticed before. A parchment? She took it out, a note, folded with a blank seal. She examined it carefully. How had this escaped her notice? Had her eyes been so glued to the horizon that someone might've sneaked up on her and slipped a note in there? Or was it there from the time she left Nashaki?
Whatever the case, she opened it, breaking the seal. Inside, was a note from Point, addressed to her of course. Her eyes widened as she read it. It was brief and laconic, leaving much to the imagination. A terribly cruel thing to scare her when he already knew she was on edge. But she knew Point. He wouldn't bandy about warnings without good reason.
"Demda, they're after our hides. Set off for Crescent Dock immediately with whatever you can gather. I'll explain when you've arrived... Signed P... The 23rd of Vhalar?!" She furrowed her brow, trying to read the date a different way. But no, it was dated back 20 days ago. Was Point even still at Crescent Docks now? Dare she try and find him there?
It might be too risky, his and her enemies might've caught up to him by then, but if she knew one thing about Point, was that he knew when to be discrete. He likely wouldn't have left a trail for them to follow, or at the very least left several false leads scattering pursuers in a hundred different directions. The seal on Demda's note was unbroken, and so she presumed he wouldn't have given her a false lead. Could this be a trap, was he being coerced?
After all they'd seen and been through together in their past, she very much doubted it. The two ex-slaves shared a bond over their time in servitude. Point was a good friend. And more than that, despite the terrible news, she wanted to believe that he had her back.
So as she made camp, putting up her tent below a depression in a hill, she began ruminating over her plan of action. She would go to Crescent Docks, to see if Point could be found, or made to find her as she entered the settlement. As she tied her thorned horse to the roots of a dried-up tree nearby, she reflected that it might be best if she not even bother to gather the rest of her things from Nashaki. Likely, they, whoever they were, had visited on her domicile, and were ready for her to return.
She set up her bedding beneath the tent and allowed that the horse should join her beneath the shade. Once inside, she let the road weariness fall on her eyes, as she drifted off to sleep.
She woke later to the sounds of marching, off in the distance. Opening her eyes from beneath the covers, she growled, aching from all the travel she’d been doing. Monk for his part was rather silent and content, sleeping away the previous days’ journey.
She wanted to stay under the covers, and debated whether she should go out, but in the end caution won out. She put on her boots and robe, then her mask, and went out to check who was out there.
Poking her head out of the tent, she saw nobody there. Another series of the tramping of feet, and the rhythmic chanting of men talking to each other. She made for the crest of the hill, which separated her camp from the view of the coastline. Once there, she spotted the figures on the horizon. At least a dozen of them, with a dozen more trailing in a single file… Slavers and manhunters. Demda muttered a curse under her breath.
For the first few bits as she watched them make a path for the north, to the Crescent Docks where she was headed, she thought the point man had found her tracks or signs of her passage. Another muttered curse.
Her eyes traced the line that she’d crossed when making her way off the road, and into the sand dunes inland. Thankfully the wind had covered her tracks, but there was no telling whether other signs had been left. Not all trackers were made equal, and Demda worried that this one might be a cut above the rest.
Yet, when he seemed to give up on the signs of the tracks, or else was commanded to go forward and find their way clear to the harbor, Demda breathed a sigh of relief. She crawled back away from the hillock, and back toward the sandy area where she’d made her tent. She began preparing for disassembling the campsite.
Breaks later she was ready to move on, and the Slavers were nowhere to be seen. After mounting Monk, she was careful not to follow in their footsteps. Heading north off the beaten path was a more laborious ride for poor Monk, but he was sturdy. She only had to deal with a few whorls of dust devils and scattered dustings. There were no great sandstorms rearing their heads as of this day.
In another break or so, she arrived at the palisade divider that separated the settlement of the Crescent Docks from the rest of the Hotlands. There, she was allowed entrance, and kept a good eye out for signs of her friend, Point.
She dismounted some distance into the settlement, resolved to walk the rest of the way. When eventually she did make it to the piers, looking all over for Point in the process, she stiffened as she felt a finger tapping on her back.
”Demda! I wondered what had become of you, they said you were lost to the desert.” The scattered voice of Point danced on the air in front of her, as she listened, and relaxed on hearing his voice. Demda turned around, and pushed Point, but not roughly.
”You worried me! What is this about then?”
”The old gang, Qais’ leiutenant, he heard you were back on the scene, and has put a price on your scalp…”
Demda quirked a brow. It was strange for them to have moved so slowly, and then to have only recently realized that Demda was in Nashaki, decide that she was worth bagging? She suspected something was amiss, but wasn’t going to question Point. She relied on him for information, and if she couldn’t trust his word… well.
”Thank you for telling me… then what will we do? I only have so…”
”I know someone who runs a charter out of Rharne, from these docks. We can make for the North and find a new life! Out of the orbit of this rat’s nest of a city!”
Demda frowned. She realized she didn’t have the same experience of Nashaki as Point did. He’d seen areas that were rougher to live in, and even harsher realities as a slave himself. Above all, Nashaki was her home town, and the Hotlands were a place she considered her home. What would she do in Rharne? Her last visit hadn’t given her a positive impression of the locals.
But then, none were to say she ought to stay there. She could make berth there, only to sail elsewhere, and further confuse any headhunters. It was a chance at a new life.
It took about a few more bits of convincing, but eventually Point softened her disposition enough that she agreed to go. ”Alright, we’ll go then… On my nel?”
Point smirked at that, and shook his head, hoisting a box full of cards and dice. ”I’ll make sure you get my portion of the fare back, lovely. Don’t you worry.”
So having decided, they went along, with Monk in tow, to board the charter of Point’s contact. From there, they made passage across the Crescent Sea, all the way around the coast into the inland water passage, to Rharne.
