“Jade. Sage. Teal. Mint,” Fig muttered between short breaths.
“What are you on about?” Renwick snapped, his voice carrying more edge than he’d intended.
“Olive. Emerald. I’d even take seafoam at this point,” Fig continued.
“Those are shades of green,” Syd said evenly.
Renwick turned and stared at him. “It’s been two days in this desert. I didn’t know Elves could sweat.”
“Neither did I,” Fig said, finally breaking from her endless list. “I’m from the Fey Realm we don’t do deserts. You, on the other hand, should be right at home in this heat, right, Red?”
“It’s been two days and we haven’t seen a single caravan or encampment,” Renwick said, forcing his voice to stay level. “You’d think we would’ve crossed paths with the Marr nomads by now. They handle all the caravans between Castlemere and Keshara.”
“The Marr keep their distance from the tower,” Syd replied. “And the Other Side isn’t all fire and brimstone, from what I’ve read. This heat isn’t exactly pleasant for me either.”
In truth, the heat barely bothered him but he wasn’t about to give Fig the satisfaction.
“And it’s Syd,” he added. “If you keep up with the ‘Red’ comments, I’ll be happy to introduce you to my people.”
Marked Ones didn’t actually communicate with the Other Side, but Fig didn’t know that.
She tried to pretend she hadn’t heard him. She failed miserably.
As midday bled into evening, the party spotted what they first assumed was a mirage fitting, given the desert’s name. A cluster of ruined structures stood beside a shallow water source, the remains of an outpost half-swallowed by sand. A dilapidated tower loomed at its edge, confusing Renwick and Fig, who briefly thought they’d stumbled upon Dramira’s tower.
“This is the Blacksands Outpost,” Syd said. “Or what’s left of it.”
He explained that it had once served as a border marker during the Castlemere War, when House Ravencrest fell and Keshara’s Shahbanu tested the lines. The outpost had stood as a warning, a quiet promise that the border would not move.
Syd considered elaborating on the war and the politics that shaped the region, but thought better of it given his audience.
“At least we’ll have fresh water and walls tonight,” Renwick said, already unpacking their gear.
As the evening fire burned low, Renwick settled onto the carpet Syd had laid out and leaned closer.
“You know you freaked Fig out with that little threat about summoning a demon.”
Syd smirked. “You know, that’s pretty clev—”
Renwick’s words were swallowed by the thunder of hooves.
A massive band of Marr surged into the camp, kicking up clouds of sand. Renwick drew both blades with a soldier’s practiced ease. Fig’s usually gentle expression hardened, her body loose and ready for violence.
As the dust settled, Syd finally saw them clearly.
The Marr nomads of the desert fierce Minotaur warriors mounted atop massive rhinoceroses. Guardians of the sands and the caverns beneath them, they watched the camp in silence, horns gleaming in the dying light.