The capitol of the Blacklands was located in the center of the Scorched Desert. Surrounded by the Burning Mountains, the desert was nearly entirely lifeless. However, from his place on the castle balcony, Cirahl could see the sand whipping around the caravan train that was crossing the desert. These traders were his link to the lands beyond his, to the men and women who ruled over citizens more civilized that then nomadic horselords and cacti. The Blacklands were rich in mineral resources, salt, gypsum, certain metals, but due to the harsh climate no one would ever challenge his family's right to rule. His right to rule. His father was dead, his older brother was dying, and Cirahl was watching his freedom slipping away.

As a second son, Cirahl would have been able to leave the Blacklands, but the heir had contracted a type of Tuberculosis common in miners. Had he had a younger brother he would have been able to abdicate, but there had never been any more children. His mother had been a foreigner, a lowborn noble from the Summer Isles who had captivated his father with her charm. Taken away from the waters she knew and loved, she had slowly wasted away, finally dying when he was in his early teens. Hajran, his father, had done everything in his power to save his ailing wife; including installing small pools of precious water around the castle, but the stagnant sand filled pools had done nothing to alleviate her suffering. Before she died she had penned a marriage contract that would have allowed Cirahl to escape the desert, to spend his days in a lush paradise. But his princess had fallen, and had been swallowed by the ocean. She would be eighteen now, and they would have been married. But she was gone; Cirahl was hesitant to believe she was dead.

True, his spies in the Court of the Summer Isles were adamant about her passing. Her family held celebrations of her life on the fateful day when she had fallen, but Cirahl trusted his eyes. He didn't understand what they had seen, but he believed nonetheless. When the ocean had claimed Rianin, Cirahl had jumped overboard as well to try to save her. He was unable to swim, but his desperation to escape had made him brave. He floated in the water column, watching Rianin's soaked skirts drag her into the blackness. His lungs had screamed for oxygen, but he continued trying to reach her. As he was about to black out he saw it. Silver flashes of light surrounding the drowning girl, and a pair of hands had propelled him out of the deep. Everyone had attributed it to oxygen deprivation, but her body had never been recovered. This caravan was coming from the Summer Isles, and advanced riders promised him that it contained something he had never seen before.

Cirahl stiffly walked to greet the caravan, his light colored robes billowing in the breeze. His face was veiled with fine imported silk to both protect his eyes from the sand, and prevent him from inhaling it. Had he not worn a black ring with the cut ruby crest of his house, Cirahl would have been anonymous. The wheels clattered on the stone forecourt, and Cirahl welcomed the traders into his home. They were bringing spices, fruit, salted fish, and something they wouldn't mention by name in fear the letter would be intercepted. Or perhaps they didn't have a name for it. Cirahl briefly inspected the wares, but he was most interested in the wagon that stood apart from the others, in the shadiest location. He invited the merchants to a feast of cactus wine and salted rabbit, the fare of his country and approached that wagon as they filed into his reception hall.

The trader was dressed in the loose tunic and trousers common to the Summer Isles, and his head was wrapped in a green silk scarf. Not fashionable by any means, but it would keep the sun off just as effectively as anything else. Unlike some of the other carriages which were ornately painted and gilded to showcase the drivers' wealth, this carriage was downright shabby. Peeling paint, moth eaten velvet curtains were signs of a previous opulence. Once inside, Cirahl noted the poor lighting, and absence of wares. A barrel was lashed tightly to the caravan wall to prevent a disturbance of the contents, but it wasn't sealed. A piece of black, loosely woven cloth secured the contents from spilling out the top. A half eaten package of dried fish was on a shelf nearby. Cirahl could hear sloshing water, and see that every so often, the cloth moved independently. The carriage was motionless.

The trader gestured for Cirahl to approach as he pulled the cloth away. "My lord," he said. "I've heard you have put a bounty on information regarding the fate of Princess Rianin."

Cirahl did not answer. Bile rose in his throat, would he be peering into the barrel at Rianin's corpse? But stepping forward, his fears were alleviated and Cirahl's jaw dropped. He didn't even try to maintain a lord like composure. Behind him, the trader chuckled. "I did the same thing when I pulled her out of the water." Because the thing in the barrel was a woman. She stared up angrily, but appeared defeated as well. She had long, lank silvery blond hair, blue eyes, and her skin was pale from spending weeks in a water filled barrel. Narrow slits in her neck answered how she was breathing, the creature had gills. Looking down her body, he noted that her breasts were covered by a pair of dingy clam shells. And where her legs would be was a silver and slate grey tail.

"Everyone has heard the rumors surrounding Rianin's disappearance. They say you're crazy. But as soon as I caught her I knew."

"Where did you catch her?"

"On the reefs surrounding the Summer Isles. I thought she was a shark or a porpoise, but then she started talking, shouting actually. She speaks some Common." The mermaid's eyes narrowed.

Cirahl suspended his disbelief and addressed her. "And do you know the whereabouts of Princess Rianin? A land girl. She'd be eighteen, red hair."

The mermaid said nothing, and Cirahl made a decision. He tipped the barrel and began draining the water. Immediately the hot desert air evaporated her skin's moisture, leaving flaking salt residue. She screamed. "Water!"

"Tell me where Rianin is."

"All the eighteens go to child's court. I can show you. I can show you. Please!"

Cirahl ignored her, but ordered a pitcher of water be brought for her. "Trader, I will make you rich."