Author's Note: Colds are apparently good for my muse. I wouldn't recommend getting sick as a usual method of writing, but it works for me. Big thanks to Rockerduck for inspiring most of this chapter.

Blatant and shameless plug: The Settlers: Rise of an Empire has a new fansite, managed by yours truly. Follow the homepage link from my profile for more Settlers resources, discussion forums, et cetera. Please. It's a bit lonely with only three members.


On a sudden impulse, Crimson Sabatt sat up in her saddle and squeezed the reins. Her mare obediently slowed, then halted as she tightened her grip.

She could not have imagined that, but it was not possible that the distant rumble was thunder. The sky above was clear apart from the burning sun.

The tunnel.

She whirled Sombra on the spot and shielded her eyes, squinting back at the cliffs. Everything looked normal. The ruins were still in place; the blue-coated troops were camped at the oasis north of them.

She heard it again: a deep, prolonged crash, like thunder. Or a muffled explosion.

Or falling rocks.

She nudged her heels into her mount's flanks and the mare leaped forward.

Kestral barrelled down the cave corridor, lungs rasping, muscles stiff with cold. She could barely see a few feet in front of her face. The rocks roared around her; a moment later the ground shuddered and she stumbled against the wall.

She felt Hakim grab her arm. Shrugging him off, she found her feet and dashed ahead of again. She was shivering violently. Freezing cold and quite possibly about to drown – not quite what she'd expected when she'd been assigned a mission in Janub.

She remembered almost too late and skidded to a stop inches from the lip of the rock chimney. Hakim careened into her; the dim light from the lantern on his arm danced wildly on the walls.

"The cliff," she gasped out, not caring if that was an inaccurate description.

"Take the lamp," he instructed, slipping that object from his arm. He must have left the other one behind.

She took it, hung it from her elbow, then turned and dropped to her knees. Gradually, arms complaining, she lowered herself down into the vertical tunnel.

Then the world came to pieces. The stone slipped under her fingers, water gushed over her, the lamp went out, and then she was falling.

The sickening feeling lasted only for a moment. Her feet struck slick floor and slid out from underneath her. She skidded down the tiny crawl on her back, rocks biting into her back. The lamp, now doing nothing to break the darkness, clattered against the wall and yanked at her elbow.

After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the bottom of the tunnel and plunged feet first into frigid water that cut worse than the stones. She struggled for the surface, muscles aching, and reached the stale air.

"Hakim!" she screamed between gasps, treading the already deep water. The entire lower tunnel must be filling up. A rock from the ceiling splashed into the raging water next to her and she yelped.

A firm hand grasped her flailing arm. He must still be able to stand up, she thought with irrational bitterness. Stupid tall Janubians.

"Where are we?" she yelled over the din of raging waters and falling rocks. One narrowly missed her head; she coughed as the water splashed into her face.

"I do not know, but I suggest we follow the flow." Even while panicking, Kestral could still admire how calm his shout sounded.

Hakim was doing his best not to panic. The turbulent water was up to his neck; it would be faster and easier to swim. There was, of course, an obvious flaw in that plan.

Holding onto Kestral with one hand and the bag containing the orb in the other, he began to work his way forward, desperately trying to stay on his feet. The currents hauled at his legs; the pressure on his chest was almost unbearable. He couldn't take much more of this.

A crash sounded behind him in the blackness, then a surge of water slammed into his back. He stumbled and barely regained his footing. It was already several inches deeper than when they had started.

"We're going to have to swim for it," Kestral shouted, echoing his own thoughts. He yelled an affirmative and released her hand, then gave into the current.

He was instantly swept off his feet and forward; it was all he could manage to keep his head above water. Strokes were entirely unnecessary: the river was charging forward at a dizzing pace. He hoped that it was heading towards the outside, or they were as good as dead already.

As Hakim let go, Kestral pulled the lamp from her arm and let it dash away into the darkness, then took a deep breath and dived forward into the icy water. She took a few strokes, but quickly realised she didn't need to.

The water tossed her around and spun her in circles, but at least it seemed to be flowing more or less in one direction. She wasn't even sure where Hakim was now. Hopefully Wise Boy was at least capable of keeping his head up.

She slammed into the rock wall with a pained gasp. It was so black she hadn't even seen the side of the corridor. As the water scraped her along the side of the tunnel, her fingers felt out one of the alcoves she'd seen earlier. She clung to the rocky outcropping out of pure irrational instinct and panted faintly. The more morbid speculate that it was a tomb.

This was not what she had expected from Janub at all.

Hakim's fingers were still tightly wrapped around one corner of the makeshift bag. He could feel the precious weight distinctly. He was not letting go. No matter what.

A sudden current yanked at his feet, pulling him down. It was only for a moment – he fought back up to the surface immediately – but it was long enough to provoke a few seconds of sheer, raw panic. He fought down the fear with an effort. He was not going to die. Not here. Not this way.

For a moment, as the water splashed around his face, he thought he saw a glimmer of light in the distance. He blinked. It was still there. So close now. If he could just hang on for a few more moments –

He hit the wall with such force it knocked the wind out of him. Before he had recovered, another current tugged him downwards. He hauled himself upwards, but just as he breached the surface, the bundle was torn from his hand.

He reached out, blindly searching for it. Too late. He'd been swept too far.

He did not panic. He did not feel anything at all.

Sabatt was within a quarter mile of the excavation when the workers suddenly began to run north. The distant figures were, one by one, leaving their occupations or emerging from tents and sprinting toward the oasis as if their lives depended upon it. She frowned. What in –

Then the water started gushing from the doorway into the cliff.

After staring in frank shock for a moment, her mouth twisted into an amused smile.

That was not something you saw every day.

Hakim stumbled to his feet with a groan, gasping for air. He was standing in water up to his waist in what used to be the ruins. It was now a lake. The sunlight was blinding after what seemed like years in darkness; his soaked clothes weighed a ton.

He had lost it. He had lost the second-most important artifact in all of Janubian history. Not only that, but he had lost his only chance to unite Janub.

He heard another splash behind him and glanced over his shoulder. Kestral was on her feet and apparently unhurt, though her face was white and the slightly muddied water up to her shoulders.

He sloshed forward a few steps and squinted at his surroundings. The staff of the excavation were grouped a few hundred feet away to the north, staring and pointing; Darion's troops were visible over by the oasis. And galloping towards them from the east was a mounted Crimson Sabatt.

A sudden fury took hold of him. His utter hatred of the woman had not abated in the months since he had been her prisoner in Narlind, and now it was fueled with bitterness at his own foolishness.

"Well, look what the buzzard dragged in," he heard Kestral mutter behind him. Ignoring her, he stalked towards the newly-formed shore.

Sabatt pulled her horse to a stop about ten feet from the edge, distinct amusement on her face. He resisted the impulse to attack her on the spot.

"I must admit, Southerner, I'm impressed," she said, chuckling. "I thought Janubians did not lie."

"My friend was under instructions to answer all questions with the exact truth." He could barely keep the contempt from his face.

"I see." Sabatt flipped her hair back over her shoulder and nodded to Kestral. "A pleasure to see you again, bandit."

"Speak for yourself," Kestral growled.

The Red Prince's general shook her head condescendingly. "You really should teach her some manners, Southerner."

Hakim was not in the mood for this. "Stalemate, Sabatt."

"I beg your pardon?" Had anyone ever sounded so supercilious?

He sighed, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his tone any more. "I lost the orb. No one can claim Sahir al-Awan now. Do as you like, but it is all for nothing."

Sabatt stared at him calmly, facial expression not flickering. "How do I know I can believe you?"

"You said it yourself, Sabby." Hakim heard a quiet splash as Kestral took a step forward. "Janubians don't lie." Was he imagining it, or was there a hint of irony in her tone?

"Very well." The general in crimson brushed an invisible speck of dust from her leg, then looked back to Hakim with a smirk. "You are wrong, though, Southerner. This land still can and will be taken by force."

"Good luck with that." Kestral must have pointed towards the oasis, for that was where Sabatt looked. Hakim followed her gaze and saw Refec's troops sprinting across the sand. They would be here any moment.

The Guerannan did not visibly react to the threat. "Enjoy your supremacy while it lasts, Knights of Darion. This land shall soon belong to the Red Prince." She whirled the black mare and horse and rider bolted back the way they came.

Hakim pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a groan. He ignored the sound of Kestral splashing up behind him. Bitter recriminations were coursing through his mind. If only he had gotten here sooner. If only they had moved through the cave faster. If only –

"Hey, Princey." Kestral tapped him on the shoulder. "I think you dropped something."

He spun around. The young woman was grinning irrepressibly. In her hand was the bag containing the orb.

Hakim blinked, then roared with laughter.

Two down. One to go.

Half an hour later, they were riding east. Comfortably warm and dry again, Kestral was mounted on Dutch, trotting alongside Hakim atop his bay stallion. Refec and his troops manned the carts trundling along behind. The orb, due for a polish but safe and sound, was nestled in the cart next to the sceptre. She had had a hard time persuading Hakim to let go of it.

Hakim cleared his throat, and she turned to look at him. His face was impassive. "Thank – thank you, Lady Kestral. I am not certain what I would have done had you not been present this morning."

She stared at him. He was thanking her? He'd been happy when she'd shoved it into his hands earlier, sure; probably the happiest she'd ever seen him. But he'd stopped short of actual verbal expressions of gratitude, and she hadn't expected them.

Wow.

"You're welcome, Lord – actually, what am I supposed to call you?"

"Hakim is sufficient."

"Yeah, but that can't be your actual name, right?" She shortened her reins, keeping her eyes on him. "'Cause it would just be stupid to use your real name when you're undercover."

"Your supposition is correct." He stared straight ahead.

"You might as well tell me, or I'm gonna find out from the next random Janubian we pass what the name of their ruler is."

"Very well." He cleared his throat again. "Ammar al-Basir ibn Murtadi ibn Hakim al-Sahir."

"You're kidding me."

"A joke would be pointless in this situation. That is indeed my name. The short variation on it, as a matter of fact."

She gaped. "It's longer?"

"I believe that is what I just said."

She resisted the sudden urge to giggle, instead taking a deep breath. "So why Hakim Ad – Ab –"

"Abd-Al Sar."

"Right. Why that alias in particular? There's got to be a million names you could have chosen."

He hesitated. "There was no particular reasoning behind my choice. Hakim was my grandfather's name; I have long preferred it to my own. As for the rest, roughly translated into your language, it means 'of the hood'."

Kestral yanked on the reins abruptly, bringing Dutch to a halt. "Wait, let me get this straight. Your name is a Janubian equivalent of Robin Hood?"

He also halted, staring at her with distinct confusion. "Of what?"

"Never mind." The giggles were becoming harder and harder to hold in. "It's just an old Gallos legend, that's all."

He raised an eyebrow. "Far be it from me to hurry you, Lady Kestral, but I believe we decided we wanted to reach Tijar before nightfall."

She laughed out loud now, nudging Dutch back into a trot. "Whatever you say, Robin."