Note from the Author: Due to my desire to see whatever readers I have get more frequent updates, I've scaled back the length of my chapters. If any of you actually preferred the longer ones, let me know, otherwise, I'll keep on doing it this way. Blunt the Edge!

As Kimdezar's form blurred and vanished, Zak, his chest working like a bellows, halted his headlong charge, and turned around to face Arakanzar, Tyra, Devlar, and a single surviving man who had been laid out by the red cloud Arakonza's brother had conjured up, and was coughing up a steady stream of blood. That unfortunate soul expired just as Zak turned to face him, slumping face-first into the sand. He supposed those fat cowards of merchants he'd seen dive behind the wagons might still be alive, but he wasn't going to worry about it.

"Dying Embers," he commanded, and his flaming sword let the fires die away. Stowing it in the sheath again, he strode down the dune to meet Arakanzar and Devlar halfway. The half-drow looked a little regretful at all the bodies strewn across the desert, and Devlar was trying to hide behind him.

"Having fun, Zak?" Arakanzar asked with a touch of black humor. "I imagine that if you still had a caravan boss to pay you, you'd get a good bit extra for that little stunt." Zak smiled dangerously.

"I'm not in the mood, Arakonza. Try that again, and you'll suffer." Before the wizard could reply, he pushed past him and Devlar and, pulling his crossbow from it's holster, headed in Tyra's direction. The cleric, who hadn't spent a minute in battle, wasn't even perspiring all that much. She greeted Zak with a sarcastic,

"We appear to have more in common than you think, if that's the way you operate." She gestured to the battlefield, and laughed loudly.

"That was a fine bit of work, from somebody who manages to make an enemy every five minutes. I begin to see why none of them have yet come after you." She cocked an eyebrow, and waited for him to reply. Zak took off his headband and ran a hand through his hair, aiming the crossbow at her head. Looking over at Anbory's charred and blackened body, which he recognized by the brass ring on the left hand, a building rage coursed through him, but he didn't pull the trigger. His voice was flat and calm.

"You didn't help."

"Should I have?" she snorted disdainfully. "I don't know hardly any of them, and besides, they all hated me. Why should I care?"

"Then you wouldn't mind if I killed you now?" Zak asked quietly, almost a whisper. Tyra considered, then grinned as she leaned forward, met the blazing fury in Zak's eyes without a reaction and stated, clearly,

"You could try." The crack! of the crossbow didn't go far in the dunes.

Arakanzar pursed his dry lips, and mused over this most recent development as Zak pushed past him.

"Devlar," he murmured, "I think that we may have a problem." The thief looked more than a little apprehensive, and complained,

"Why do we have to associate with people who would kill us if they could all the time? I mean, Nine Hells, look at the corpses, boss!" He took out his rapier regarded it with an expression of barely controlled panic.

"I just don't think I could stand up to either of'em, let alone both with a this thing!" Arakanzar held up a hand to forestall any further comments.

"Patience, Dev. I have no intention of forcing you to stand up to anybody just yet. What we do now is-" Crack! The pair immediately wheeled about, looking for the source of the shot to find Zak shouting at Tyra and drawing his sword. A crossbow bolt lay in the sand at her feet, and an invisible shield about her was still shimmering with the residual impact. She didn't look especially concerned, but just now, Arakanzar needed every underling he could get.

"Crimsonleaf!" he raised his voice, hastily making his way down the dune with Devlar following. He had just about had enough of the man's little fits, and let his irritation bleed into his voice.

"That is enough! You are going to wait and listen to me, and you are going to do it now!" But Zak looked back, and gave the two an obscene gesture, then turned about and promised,

"You'll burn one day, and I'll laugh at every scream." Tyra spit at his feet.

"Why don't you shove that flaming sword up your ass, how about? I'd bet no one has stood up to you for a while. Its high time you were taught your place, weakling!" Zak's face went the color of his headband, and he reached for his sword again. Tyra brought the dire mace into position for a sidelong swing. Just then, Arakanzar came up, and interceded, firmly planting his feet between the pair.

"Now hear this!" he bellowed. "You're bloody well going to rein in the bloodlust until we are safely away, and if you continue, I'll have no qualms about slaying you both, and selling off both your possessions in the next town. And I'm very annoyed just now, and I don't much care for it, so watch what you say next." Zak seemed to deflate, stowing his sword again and turning about. The red receded from his face, and he remarked to Tyra offhandedly,

"Well, just don't be touching any of the bodies. I've still gotta collect my pay, and I'm not exactly caring 'bout where I get it from at this point."

"Oh! But wouldn't that run counterpoint to all your sellsword morals, even outmoded as they are?" Tyra asked, propping the dire mace against a wagon and climbing in to look over the cargo. Zak began to search the bodies and dump whatever valuables were salvageable into his bag of holding.

"What do you care if it does or doesn't?" he retorted. "People have no use for gold once they're dead. They certainly won't care, so I don't see why any of us should."

"The realm of the dead is a highly fascinating topic, Zak, but one that I would immensely prefer to discuss in another location." Arakanzar remarked, standing aside and motioning to Devlar to start looting the dead as well. The rogue took out a clothespin, stuck it on his nose, and began to scrounge about the remains of the guards.

"Just now, we should probably be moving on," he added, eyeing the horizon. "The gangs will have seen the smoke, and will quickly realize there's too much of it to come from a campfire, even laying aside the fact that it's the day. I estimate we've a few hours to be far on our way."

"My way, Arakonza, is taking me far away from all of you." Zak replied hotly. "And don't start your line about a contract and mercenary's honor. Like most jobs, it depends on the employer, and I highly doubt that you'd remember the thing for long if it didn't suit your purposes to have me under hire to you."

The half-drow shrugged, meandering along the length of the caravan, poking at some of the more or less intact bodies to make sure they were dead.

"Well, you can't blame me for trying, can you?"

Zak rolled his eyes, as he carefully pried lose Anbory's ring, and tucked it away in an inner pocket.

"I probably could, but never mind that. Just now, I'll settle for a long layover in the next city and a peaceful parting of the ways." Arakanzar shook his head.

"You continue to confuse me, Crimsonleaf. Was there anything in particular that led you to become the overbearing, egotistical sellsword you are today?"

"Well, obviously there is, but I'm not gonna be talking 'bout it to you." Zak refused, hopping up to the nearest wagon, and pocketing what looked to be a potion of some kind.

"How much would it cost me for it?" Arakanzar tried again, starting to unfasten one of the camels from its harness. He quickly tangled the lines, having no experience in the area, and gave up on it. Zak considered. The wizard might pay a healthy sum, and the half-elf didn't much care who knew about his past. It wasn't all that traumatic or exciting anyway.

"Let's say you release me an' Tyra from your service, and you pay back the coins you got out of me, and we'll call it even." Arakanzar frowned, and, putting down his hood, began to attempt to fix his hair. As he worked, he turned over the proposal in his mind. He didn't much care for the idea of losing whatever hold he might still have over Zak and Tyra, but then again, it didn't count for a lot with people such as them. The gold was also rather insignificant. Besides, he always appreciated a well-told story, and blackmail was an art he excelled at.

"Very well then, but wait until we're a bit further along, if you would," he acquiesced, glancing about at the horizon. Trying to untangle the harness he had been working, he again failed miserably, and, frustrated, yelled for Devlar. The thief came running up, putting away the clothespin and massaging his nose where it had been pinching.

"Aye, boss?"

"Get this damn animal unattached, and I mean yesterday."

"Hey!" a weak voice called. "What about my goods?"

"Yeah," a second replied. Three battered merchants peered out from behind one of the nearer wagons. Arakanzar swept a low bow.

"Good sirs, you may consider what we take payment for your safe passage to the next town. What you can't carry, I am certain the loss will not cripple you. No wise man risks all his livelihood on such a venture as this." The man who had first spoken proved more stubborn then the other two, for while they nodded numbly, and began going about the business of getting a few camels unfastened, he stood stoutly, and, arms folded over his pronounced belly, proclaimed,

"If you'll take along my wagon, I'll pay for the privilege." He spoke with the confidence of someone for whom gold has always paved the way and made going easy. The looks he got from Zak and Tyra made him reconsider. The half-elf laughed bitterly.

"You're out of your league here, ye sack of blubber. Be thankful we don't leave you for the next gang to come by, or the vultures. Zak Crimsonleaf is not generous at all, but I'm willing to fulfill whatever contract I have left and escort you to Memnon. Be….very….thankful, because also, Zak Crimsonleaf would probably be wiser just to kill all three of you to make supplies last longer, and to not have to listen to your whining all the way. And whatever you're thinking of me, everybody else is worse." With his piece said, Zak turned back, and left the man very pale and drawn, visible even through his sunburned face.

Armand left Mintar just as the sun set behind the Adamir Mountains, staining their snow-covered peaks red. It was hardly a time that anyone would choose to begin a journey, but that was precisely why he liked it. It was a reminder that only such as he could consider the dark, and all that lay concealed in it, no obstacle whatsoever. His steed, a fine bay that he'd been using for the better part of a year, moved along at a respectable pace. It would take him a goodly bit of time to get to Castle Tethyr, which was where Arakanzar would eventually have to go if he was heading north out of Calimsham. He sincerely doubted that anybody who was related to Kimdezar would travel cross-country, and if the wizard had been able to teleport himself, he would have been informed. It was a simple thing to work out.

On the forest of Mir, he would be able to travel a vast way in an instant by making use of a clan of dark druids that he associated with. They owed him somewhat for curtailing the logging done by the city of Darromar, which had of late taken an interest in the river traffic that flowed up and down the Ith. That would cut his journey by a little less than a third, ensuring that he would be in sight of Castle Tethyr before Arakanzar would be. If he decided to stop in a city on the way for a while, so much the better. Armand Lennox was not easily avoided.

Riding beside him was his number-one enforcer, Dram, a mountain orc who stood eight feet high at the least, and carried an enormous greatsword on his back. The orc wouldn't have caught Armand's attention, save for the fact that he spoke articulately, fought with cunning as well as savagery, and knew his own worth. He spoke of a rather curious past, with a wizard who had captured him just after his coming-of-age scarring, and infused him with greater intelligence, in hopes that he might help to try and change the orcish way of life. Needless to say, the experiment was a failure, and even though the wizard let him go, the intelligence remained, made permanent by the might of the spell. As a result, Dram was working to gain enough coin so that he might reverse the effect. Armand was only too happy to pay him for his work. On an impulse, he gestured towards the magnificent landscape, and inquired,

"Dram, did you ever appreciate sunsets, before or after?" The orc laughed, a guttural and harsh sound. Grinning through his tusks, he replied,
"They're nice to look at, but I've never cared about how anything looks, so long as it does something that helps me. Sunsets don't help me, so no; I don't appreciate the effect at all. I suppose that you don't either."

"Perceptive of you." Armand replied, as the light grew ever fainter, swathing the landscape in shadow. "It's a matter of preference, I suppose. Just now, at the hour of twilight, all the color seems to drain away as the light wanes. Reminds me of entropy. We all fade someday." Dram grunted noncommittally.

"I'm not a philosopher. I wouldn't be one of those if I was paid to be." The last bit of sun vanished behind the mountains, and darkness descended on Mintar and the Lake of Steam.

As he made a quick end to his searching job, Zak thought he caught a noise under the pile of bodies over by the middle of the caravan. Frowning, he jumped down from the wagon, and cautiously stepped over, pausing to listen every so often. There was nothing else to be heard. Nudging the pile with his boot, he called,

"You can come out now. They're gone." Some of the bodies shifted, and Brenim dug himself out, coated with sticky gray ashes and reeking of cinders. He'd evidently survived by virtue of being lower to the ground and behind everybody else, though it couldn't have been a pleasant experience getting buried like that. The halfling was considerably worse for the wear, and he looked about with haunted eyes as he observed the destruction.

"I'm ruined…" were his first words. "I've lost everything…" He staggered over to one of the wagons and collapsed against its side. Slumping down to the sand, he absently contemplated his sling, which he was still clutching in his hand. Zak sighed. He'd seen this before. The former caravan master would be of no use to them for now. He was in shock, and needed time to recuperate.

"C'mon, Brenim, we're getting you out of here." He set the halfling on his feet and gave him a gentle push in the direction of the others.

Arakanzar and Devlar were inspecting their loot, which they hid with remarkable speed as they spotted Zak and Brenim moving towards them. Tyra scowled at the sight of them.
"Don't tell me your little friend didn't have the courage to die well, and you're still bringing him along," she asked Zak icily. The sellsword nodded.

"What do you care about it? He never did anything to you."

"If he stays on, it means that much less food and water for me, so he will be doing something to me," she retorted, taking hold of her dire mace with both hands.

"S'all right." Brenim mumbled, gesturing aimlessly with his sling. "I'll just…stay here…" Zak shook his head fiercely.

"You're coming with us, and that's that, even if I have to sling you over my shoulder the whole way. Arakonza, Devlar! Let's move out." He began to unfasten one of the camels, with much more success than Arakanzar, but Tyra gripped his wrist with an iron hold.
"Not so fast, Crimsonleaf. Since there's three of us, and one of you, let's put it to a vote." Moving fast, Zak established a grip at the tips of her fingers, and brutally pried her hand off his wrist. Shoving it away, he turned to face her fully, beginning to become angry again.

"Since the one of me can whip all three of your asses, let's say that you're going to agree with me on this without a vote," he warned, reaching for one of his slide-out bracer daggers. A crossbow bolt embedded itself in the wagon side close by the pair, quivering with force. They both looked to the source of the shot to see Devlar reloading the weapon that launched it, and Arakanzar looking put out.

"You two can quarrel all you want as a soon as we're away from here," he reprimanded them severely. "For now, we'll take him with us, but the matter is open to debate. If you'll unfasten four of those camels, Crimsonleaf, we'll be off." Zak smothered a grin at Arakanzar's deft manipulating of the situation. He was giving Brenim time to come to his senses and realize that he was better off alive, while simultaneously removing himself from the decision-making process, so that he couldn't be blamed for whatever did happen. Always one to hedge his bets, this Arakonza, though I doubt that's his real name.

Far to the north, in the fortress of Zhentil Keep, Tyra's absence was noticed. A functionary in clerical robes bowed before Captain Durik Lockheim, who had arranged to have Tyra get in to T'lindhet, and was not at all pleased about her failure to report.
"My lord, our contacts in T'lindhet claim to have no knowledge of the location of our missing operative," the functionary reported. "They did indicate that she may have offended someone she shouldn't have, and we shouldn't press the matter." Durik stroked his goatee, deep in thought. He couldn't yet give up on Tyra as completely lost, for he knew she had had a contingency plan to escape, but yet he needed to get information somehow, and if he requested another operative, his superiors might take umbrage, and he'd be out of a job, most like.

"You've tried scrying," he questioned absently, knowing that the ring she wore would block such efforts. The functionary bowed again.

"Aye, my lord, with no results." Durik was struck by an idea. Mayhap someone in Dambrath knows where she's got to. I doubt it, but those half-drow up top do travel down every now and then. I'll see about getting in touch with them. If they don't, then I'll just have to throw some good money after bad and send in somebody else. It's too bad if she's gone and croaked on me, but she was rather unstable.

"Send word for our wizard to communicate with somebody in Dambrath that he can depend upon. He is to inquire as to her location from him, and also to question whomever he talks to about recent events both in Dambrath and T'lindhet," he commanded confidently, settling back into his chair. He was already thinking who to promote into Tyra's vacant spot the minute he got nothing back on the search efforts. With a little effort, he could present a good enough story to his superiors that they wouldn't mind the loss. Shame, though, to lose someone you've got blackmail-worthy knowledge over.