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"Slavers." Khawla al-Mir hissed the word as she surveyed the wreckage of the Khandarai hunting camp. A full moon was out and the light it cast illuminated the desert brightly enough for even a human to clearly see the scattered belongings, torn tents and at least a dozen bodies that lay around dark patches of sand where their blood had seeped into the ground. 

The sharp metallic scent of blood cut through the rich salt air of the ocean whose glimmering expanse was visible in the far distance. As a general rule the Khandarai rarely camped close to the ocean for just this reason, pirates and slavers were common along the coast, always looking to snap up unwary Khandarai who would fetch a fine price on any slavers auction block. It seemed that these slavers were braver than most as they had come a fair distance inland to hit the Khandarai camp, and in great numbers.

Khawla was able to discern that the attackesr had come over the distant dunes and caught the Khandarai by surprise, no small feat. Hoof prints and even wagon wheel ruts indicated that this was a well financed and well planned expedition. No simple pirates. The attackers had come quite recently and had left, northwards, toward the ocean.

"Come Sisters, we must move quickly." Khawla whispered as she moved across the bloodied sand. A dozen shapes appeared to materialize from the sand around her and the entire group began a quick loping run across the wind swept desert. They moved with the steady confidence of veteran fighters, hands pumping in time with legs as they moved far swifter than any horse drawn cart.

It was the will of the Prophetess, or dumb luck, depending on who you asked, that had brought Khawla and her chosen band to this region of the desert on such a night. Slaver raids had become more common in the recent months and she had taken the time to make sweeps along the northern shores. 

The Khandarai ran silently across the sands in single file to hide their numbers, running next to the cart tracks, taking turns to lead, giving each other a rest as the leader. A dozen pair of eyes scanned the desert for any more raiders, and more importantly, any of the savage creatures that lived beneath the sand. Desert beasts, like many monsters, were not a fan of fire, but if the slavers did not have any torches, they might find themselves facing something far more terrifying than Khandarai warriors. 

They ran for an hour, the ocean drawing ever closer as they went. If the slavers were able to make it to their ship before the Khandarai arrived, their prisoners would be lost forever. The Khandarai excelled at many things but very few amongst them dared to brave the open ocean for a profession. The slavers were well aware of this and as a result kept well clear of Basul, not hesitating to raid anyone foolish enough to show a night time fire to a watcher on the ocean. 

Suddenly, far ahead, much closer to the sea, a series of thunderous roars tore the near silent night asunder. The screams of men, and of women, began to rise with the chaos and Khawla ran faster. Her feet appeared as a blur as she raced over the desert floor, arms pumping steadily, her chin tucked slightly down, the desert air cool on her cheeks as she ran. The roaring grew louder, some of it sounded as if a creature were in pain, the shouting of orders in mens voices becoming more distinct.

Then the small band topped a dune and chaos greeted them. The slaver column, a half dozen wagons in its midst, had been ambushed by a pack of Hakams'. The great beasts, five of them, had descended upon the flank of the caravan and torn into the slavers who had initially recoiled in horror but were now fighting back. Already one of the bests was down, the desert around it strewn with the bodies of dead slavers. Even as Khawla watched, one of the larger Hakam lashed out with its barbed tail and a mans battle cry turned into a gurgling shriek as the barb hooked him beneath the chin and sent him flying through the air. 

Khawla looked to the wagons, at least twenty of her kin lay trussed up inside. If she did not reach them, either the slavers would take them, or the Hakam would devour them when they had finished the slavers off. A moments pause and she waved her comrades forward.

"Archers, begin killing the slavers, only those not directly engaging the Hakam. You others, follow me." She was already moving away to her left before she finished speaking. The archers went to work at once and arrows flickered out of the darkness to slaughter the slavers trying to reload their crossbows behind the wagons. Panicked shouts went up from the slavers they began to die with the long black shafts through their throats. 

The main body of slavers had drawn up into a solid block of shields with long pikes which they were using in short efficient strokes against the Hakam, fending off the beasts as they slowly edged further north, towards their ship. One of the Hakam, wounded and no longer willing to approach the shield wall, turned its attention on the wagons and with a gleeful, feline bound, pounced on a wagon. The screams of the women inside as the Hakam tore into their bound forms was to much for Khawla and she threw caution to the wind. 

"With me!" She cried out, drawing both blades as she charged down the dune and into the melee. The first two slavers who turned to look at her never stood a chance. Her blades flashed and both fell headless to the ground. Others, so far unable to reach their comrades shield wall, cursed and tried to bring their weapons to bear, but they were no match for the finest warrior in Khandarai. Khawla moved through them like a wind through wheat, her blades flashing in the moonlight as she cut men down where they stood, until, at last, she hurled herself upon the Hakam that was busy tearing one of the captured women in two.

The Hakam roared in pain as she slashed a blade across a hamstring, trying to turn to swat at her even as she severed its tail just below the barb. The creature lunged, lashing out with wicked claws, to catch nothing as she deftly side stepped and drove a blade up under its chin and into its brain. The beast gave a heavy sigh and collapsed into the sand, its blood staining the ground beneath it. The remaining slavers gave a despairing cry as the rest of her band struck them and turned to run. The remaining Hakam gave a victorious roar and bounded after them.

Khawla's band quickly hurried forward to free the remaining prisoners. Less than half were alive. The Hakam had killed a number, others had died at the hands of the slavers. Those that could be saved were pulled from the wagons, their bounds cut, and they were hurried away to the south by Khawla's band. The dead would remain where they lay. The scavengers would find their bodies in the daylight if the Hakam did not take them and they would return to the desert from which they came.