Kaija Tezusha had been up all night. She received reports of activity along the border to the East, though after sending out scouts to investigate, it turned out to be a false alarm. But Kaija-Sol took those kinds of things seriously. It wasn’t that people weren’t allowed to cross the border into Azurei, rather, she just wanted to know about it. To know, and to watch. For the most part, Azurei was a live-and-let-live nation, content to see to its own needs. Except, however, when some other entity gave the first offense. And then...well, nobody liked hearing the Azurei Eija, their military, were on their way, as that meant serious trouble. Nearly a decade ago, one of the Sorcerer-Kings to the East had dared to encroach on the Azurei border, and he did not live long enough to regret it. And while she and the Eternal Realm had something of a soft truce, Kaija-Sol trusted no one.

She lowered herself slowly into a wrought iron chair set with a plush cushion and motioned for her guardian, her chief Taja, to sit across from her at the little table. He obeyed without question or hesitation, plunking down almost mechanically in the other iron chair. She moved like a trickle of water, while he moved like a falling boulder in comparison.

On the table was already a silver decanter of spiced liquor that some foreigners, for lack of a better term, called ‘Azurian Rum’. Kaija stretched out one lightly wrinkled hand and took hold of the decanter as gently as a breath of wind, then poured herself a small silver cup full. She poured a second as well and gracefully slipped it across the small wooden table to her Taja.

“Shi’ir,” she instructed, gesturing to the glass. 
The soldier stared, perplexed. “Sol....?” he muttered.
“I said drink, Ajoran. Did you not hear me?” Her tone was dangerous, though in her ancient golden eyes was a glimmer of jest that he had begun to recognize in the last several years.
Ajoran gave a polite nod, but his eyes were just as bright as hers. “Khi, Sol.” He agreed, and picked up the little cup between calloused fingers.

“I’m glad that was a false alarm. The last thing I want is to start another war. At least, not over this. And not with them.” She waved a tired hand. “Let Rhaetia deal with them. Besides, not everyone is suited to go up against a Sorcerer-King, except...” Ajoran looked down, studying the grain of the dark wood table. Kaija-Sol caught this and gave him a sharp look. “Best put those ideas out of your head, Ajoran. It can never be. Not after what she’s done. That ijurik is lucky she wasn’t put to the block. Considered banishing her to the Dust Sea but....” Kaija-Sol gave a nonplussed sigh, “that rat, of all people, might actually have survived. Instead I gave her shame. A shame she well deserves,” she growled sharply. 
Ajoran did not know what to say, so he merely agreed, “Khi, Sol.”

There was a silence then, penetrated only by the tiny trickle of water from the small fountain in the room, carved of bloody carnelian in the shape of a rearing seahorse. The sun hadn’t yet risen fully, but its light could be seen through the windows, which were covered in a sheer white fabric. Then, as if her voice was merely a part of the melody of burbling water and the whisper of wind, Kaija began, “You have always served me well, Ajoran.”
The Taja beamed, though his expression remained cold and stony. To receive such a compliment from the Sota-Sol herself was…well, it was beyond an honor. “I do what I can, Kaija-Sol. It is my duty and I bear it proudly.”
“Glad to hear it. Are you on duty tomorrow?”
Ajoran shook his head. “Je, Sol. Ghi’ain will take my post,” he informed her, and then his tattooed brow wrinkled as a thought came to him. “Is this…a problem, Sota-Sol? I can have—“ 

He was stopped short by the lifting of her thin hand, as elegant and graceful as the silk she wore. The movement was so small, so quiet and slow that it portrayed no sense of inherent force. But Ajoran knew better. He knew Kaija-Sol, knew she was the picture of elegance. And that was all the authority needed to make him clamp his mouth shut. “Ghi’ain’s performance is satisfactory, don’t worry. But I have a favor to ask of you on your day of rest.”
“Anything, my Sota-Sol.” And he meant it.
“I would like you to pay a visit to the Rhaetian fortress off to the east. Tonight might have been a…communication error, but I won’t take my chances. I’d like you to see if the Rhaetians have anything…planned. But until then, you should get some sleep,” she told him, more of an order than a suggestion. “You’ve been up all night with me and deserve some rest at last. Set out late tomorrow after the sun passes its peak.”
“Khi, Sota-Sol. I will do as you ask.” Ajoran dipped his head and touched two fingers to his forehead—the Azurian bow. And, without another word from either of them, he slipped away, soft leather shoes padding on the cool marble floor.


——

Nights in Azurei always got cold. After the heat of the day, the evening chill was often welcome, but in the small hours of the night, the red rock surrendered all its warmth to the black sky, leaving the sandy landmass quite cold by morning. This was when a lot of heavy labor was done—construction and repair, hauling, digging—since it would be murder to do it under the high sun. With no insulation to speak of, the small, cramped hovel of the Torzinei’s turned to a cold clay dungeon. It was for this reason that Ridahne awoke to find Mitaja sprawled out next to her, half laying on top of her, half draped beside her. The cat had silky fur that was wonderfully warm in the night chill, and for many years she had been Ridahne’s living blanket. When the woman rose, combing through her wild black hair as best she could, the large cat groaned her displeasure, got up, stretched, and then found Hadian’s bed and resumed her position but with him, this time. This woke the man, and without needing to open his eyes, he knew his sister was awake.

“Why so early?”
“Taking a trip out to the Dust to see what I can come up with. Hopefully meat, Maybe the trinkets of unlucky souls.”
“Ai, back again, mm?” Hadian’s voice rolled lazily, his eyes still not open. “You’re taking the horse then.”
“Khi. You’ll have to walk to the docks.”
“Not today,” Hadian groggily announced in tired triumph. “The Uva’aisi’da is on shore leave for another two days.” 
“Shore leave.” Ridahne snorted. “Rats like me don’t get to have ‘shore leave’, or anything like it. Always have to work. Always doing something.”
“Good,” Hadian chuckled, “otherwise you’d get into fights. They’re lucky you don’t carry a blade when you drink, or half of those idiots would be dead by now.” Hadian rolled over, earning another low groan from Mitaja. “Don’t die out there, mm?” He offered casually, finally allowing his eyelids to crack open a little.
“You know me. I won’t be swallowed by the Dust.” 

That was just the sort of way Ridahne and Hadian said goodbye to each other. Ridahne made sure her uri—the sarong-like garment she wore around her waist—was tied securely and properly, her hair was tied back, and that her cloak, if it could be called such a thing, was fastened over her shoulders. The garment was clearly quite worn, but because its color came from both a base layer of russet dye and years of heavy use in the Dust, it not only served as decent protection from the sun when needed, but as second-to-none camouflage in the rolling dunes of the Dust Sea. That, combined with her skill and knowledge of the Dust Sea, made Ridahne more like an apparition out in the sands than an elf. Some local merchants who were more familiar with the sea than the shifting sands of inland Azurei, and who hired her as a guide to help them reach the mountain pass out of Azurei, called her Aibhyra, or ‘ghost of the sands’.

Ridahne found their horse lapping at some water under the shade of the woven palm roof of their sad excuse for a stable. She did not use a saddle, not unless she was going to travel great distances, but instead used a woven blanket that had once been black and brown, but now just seemed a faded, dilapidated russet color. Canvas bags strung together with narrow leather straps served as saddlebags, and these were filled with food supplies, a small collection of aid equipment, and multiple waterskins. Ridahne assembled these deftly, swung her short sword over her back, mounted the chestnut bay, and trotted out of the shanty-town of Atakhara towards the wobbling horizon that stretched near endlessly out before her to the North.