They reached the edge of the desert. Murtagh watched as one of Orrin's men let the last of their birds free from the cage, a letter tied to its leg. Ahead of them the sand lessened, and on the horizon Murtagh saw a faint green curling above trademark sands.
"This way." Neybark said as he and the rest of the Dwarves shuffled through the sand on their camels. Murtagh followed, Nasuada beside him and Nasuadon watching the rear with a portion of the men Orrin had sent with them.
It was morning, and the air was deceptively cool: Murtagh had learned that here, the sun grows strength quickly, and what seemed fair could turn into a blazing inferno in not even a half of an hour's time.
"We are moving away from the mainland." Nasuada stated. Neybark answered her without turning his head.
"Yes. We did not travel here by land the entire way. We will take a ship." Neybark informed.
"Why did you not tell us this from the start?" Murtagh questioned.
"Because I was told not to." The Dwarf answered, and that was the end of their conversation.
They passed dying desert dunes, the piles of sand gradually growing smaller and smaller as Murtagh noticed more animal and plant life. Soon, he saw entire desert gardens: patches of cacti and small groves of thorny bushes that were non-existent in the deep Surdan desert.
It was then Murtagh saw the numerous trade caravans.
Some of the caravans eyed them warily, their guards presenting weapons. Others greeted them kindly, and some even stopped to barter. One caravan leader spoke to Neybark, and at the cost of a little of their supplies, the Dwarf returned with carts of sweet smelling fruits, still cold and fresh inside stone iceboxes that retarded heat and kept the contents cool.
He passed them out to their party, and even Murtagh smiled as the cooling juices of the strange-colored fruit swam down into his stomach.
They continued for like this for days.
The going was not badly, as the way was easy and the landscape slowly evolved. Every morning Murtagh saw new, small towns in the distance.
Today they passed by a large herd of desert-goats going along as far as the eye could see. They seemed to continue on forever, bleating dumbly and oblivious to Murtagh's intrusion.
Finally, four men came riding out to them, spears raised. Neybark quickly explained their destination, and at the cost of some of their fruit, they were allowed passage. Behind them, the herd faded into the horizon. Ahead, more strange sights. They came across armed men standing on high ground, made of rock or even artificial watchtowers.
"What are they doing?" Nasuada had asked, alarmed.
"Watching. There are various large settlements ahead, and as long as we pose no threat, they will leave us be. Believe it or not, this is a very lucrative trade highway."
Murtagh could see it easily enough. Traders moved past them in droves, their horses and donkeys and camels sniffing and nickering at them as they rode past.
The merchants here were noticeably less wary than their deep-desert counterparts, and most of them displayed their wares freely without obstruction.
Murtagh saw carts of jewels, cages filled with exotic birds and pens that contained lizards as large as dogs that licked at the air with forked tongues. People where caged as well- from dark-skinned red haired beyonders to fair-haired and blue eyed mainlanders.
"Slavery?" Nasuadon smirked, having come up from the rear.
"I had thought that it was outlawed. At least in Alagaesia."
"Slavery is more profitable than gold. In Alagaesia, slavery is outlawed, but they bypass those rulings by working under a front of apprenticeship, promising parents that their children will learn how to be blacksmiths and other trades. Surda has outlawed the sale of slaves who were caught with no crime. So as the slave traders pass by those states, their slaves go from apprentices to war criminals. The slave routes change the story of their product according to the laws of the land. That, coupled with blackmail that causes the various governors and magistrates to turn a blind eye, has helped slavery more than flourish."
Murtagh felt a pang of sorrow for one passing pen that contained nearly twenty slaves. They had the look of the eastern regions of Alagaesia: Pale, green eyed and dark haired. Their skin was peeling. Many of them looked as if they had been dried of tears.
An ebony-skinned beyonder with flowing fire-touched hair and a thin nose rode about them, splashing water onto the slaves periodically. The slaves would fall to the wood of their holding, slurping at the liquid like dogs.
"A cruel fate." Murtagh said as the slaves finally rolled past on the sandy road.
"We all are assigned our fates. It belongs to us to make do with what we are given." Neybark said with a whip of his reigns as his camel turned to sniff at another passing merchant.
"Even slaves? What could they do with their fate?" Nasuada challenged contemptuously.
Neybark thought for a moment, his dark eyes opaque to the inner workings of his mind.
"In most societies, it is possible for a slave to rise through his own birth and accomplish great things. If not that, they always have the ability to end their own lives. Those slaves within that cart: each one of them could end the torment they face if they had the courage."
Nasuada scowled.
"You're cruel." She said through clenched teeth.
Neybark answered neutrally.
"My people are different from yours. What I have said, yes it may be cruel, but it is no less true. Tell me, if you were being burned eternally by fire, would you allow yourself to continue to be controlled by the pain? Or would you end your own life, gaining peace in sleep?"
Nasuada remained silent.
"You would end your life. The same rule applies to the slaves. If they allow themselves to be treated as cattle, then that is how they will live, until they breathe their last desperate gasp of air in some foreign land, away from their families and friends."
Murtagh secretly agreed with Neybark.
He knew he wouldn't allow himself to be sold as a slave. He would have fought until he was killed. Nasuada would disapprove of him saying such, so in respect for her, he remained silent.
He had learned a great deal of the woman from their nights together. In some ways, he was sad. He did not want this journey to end. He had her now, but what happens when Orrin comes to meet them?
Neybark had already said that his people had practically already agreed to the alliance, only thing that waited was the official signing of terms. He had said that Varden troops were even camped around the mountains, sent by nearby Houses to defend the Dwarves should the Empire launch a surprise attack.
The Empire.
Murtagh no longer knew who he belonged to. He had been away from home for so long. What was he? A member of the Varden? A laughable statement. He was the son of Morzan, the rider that had killed hundreds of thousands of people in the wars that still scarred the realm.
Yet he lingered. He knew the end result, but he stayed regardless. Once they found out who he was, it would be too late to run.
They finally arrived at one of the cities that Neybark had spoken of.
Sloping cathedral-sized buildings with cylinder towers and circular bases loomed high in the sky, with smaller sandstone dwellings surrounding them. Music drifted into their ears.
stationary merchant tents took the place of the traveling ones. More than once, they had been stopped by men who were selling everything from jewelry to swords. Neybark often waved them away, and more than once the only thing that would stop them was the unsheathing of a sword. One merchant had been so bold as to block their way with his large selling cart.
"One sale, and you can move past." He said, grinning as his thick accent slurped past his thin lips. The local city authorities had forced the man aside, and taken a portion of his wares as punishment.
"Where are we?" Zidda asked, his bright red hair and tanned brown skin unique among their party.
"One of the outskirt cities of Surda. Ghoremda. Our destination is the port-city of Kamal." Neybark answered.
In a few hours, they had moved through the city, the sounds dwindling behind them. They were again on the road, but this time it was paved, and free watering wells were found a few paces outside the gates. They were guarded vigilantly by armed men, wearing Orrin's colors.
Murtagh surmised that Orrin's goal of re-conquering Surda and her adjoining cities was a success. Turbaned guards eyed them, hands on the hilts of their swords as water was given to their horses. Following this, they continued on their way.
Palm trees sprung from the ground. Traffic gradually grew less thick as they slowly moved through. Men patrolled the road, parties ranging from twos and threes, and larger groups of nearly fifteen mounted men.
People walked on the road as well, some carrying young children and bags of foods that they no doubt planned to sell inside Ghoremda.
Time passed.
Finally Murtagh could smell the slight scent of sea. Then, he heard the call of gulls, and the ringing of bells as the city of Kamal formed into view. A large statue stood before the gates, a golden giant, holding a spear and a raised shield. Murtagh eyed it curiously as they approached.
Inside the giant, Murtagh noticed, men hid, peering out of the eyes with strung bows. As they passed underneath it, holes lined the giant's thighs, were more men peered at them, the sharp points of arrows aimed at all who passed underneath.
"The guard of Kamal." Neybark informed, and as they rode away from it, Zidda turned in his saddle, amazed.
The ports were obviously the main attraction of Kamal.
Larger than the actual living quarters of the city, wharfs boomed with bellows and chimes as massive ships lurked in the distance, floating in murky green water. More guards lined the ports, stone-faced with their spears pointed to the clear skies as seagulls screamed above them.
Flags of a thousand nations waved at various docks, some of them occupied by ships. Men loaded and unloaded ships, passing cargo to and fro. Nasuada tsked as she saw men prod a group of tanned and dark-haired people from a sloop, their eyes slanted and their hair as dark as the night.
They were sparsely clothed, hands chained and some of them bruised with blows.
"Slaves. By the look of them, they are from the Goromon islands, or perhaps the Jinjai landmass itself." Neybark said without question.
Murtagh had no idea where those places were, but he nodded none the less. It took nearly thirty minutes before they reached their dock, the strange Dwarven flag waving above them. The image on the flag was that of three stones, connected into a triangle by iron rods. Men who looked like Neybark leaned on ropes that tied the ship to port, some of them counting inventory as they saw Neybark approach.
"Wind!" One of them called, a burly man who looked as if he was as tall as Murtagh himself. He was clearly a Dwarib, with six fingers and those strange black eyes, but it was strange seeing one so tall, especially with the stigma surrounding them for being short.
"What do you want done with the horses?" the man asked. Neybark nodded as he dismounted.
"Keep our marked ones here. Return the ones belonging to Orrin."
The large Dwarf frowned.
"These don't look like they'd survive another round trip, and we don't have the feed to spare to bring them back to health. While you were gone our wares sold poorly. Another Merchant family was here before us." He spat on the wood of the wharf as Dwarves carried the various goods onto the thick dwarf ship.
Neybark sighed as Murtagh, Nasuadon, Nasuada, and Zidda came up behind him. The rest of their party relinquished their horses, awed by their surroundings.
"Which family? The Gohns or the Karvels?"
"Nyste."
Murtagh watched as Neybark clenched his large fists.
"This isn't their season." He glowered, and the large Dwarib bobbed his head in agreement.
"I know. But they are far from home, and these tactics go unreported."
"I will make sure the Board of Fair Trade knows of this."
The Dwarf laughed heartily.
"The board has several Nyste on it. Good luck with that." He said. He looked past Neybark, eyeing Murtagh and those around him.
"This is the diplomatic party, I take it?"
Neybark confirmed this with a slight nod.
"My name is Oros Sail. My ship is one of the fastest on the seas. In no time, you will be within our heartlands."
Murtagh boarded the ship with the others, each step covering his heart with the stones that would bury him deep within his self-inflicted crypt.