Shadows in the Sand - Chapter 4

II

Bayoud,

Nimar,

JD59, Night

 

“Another night of doing bugger all and freezing our backside off,” declared Max.

Bayoud shrugged off his friend’s comment as he stood guard during his night shift.  He was proud to stand guard and protect the city he loved.  For him, ninety percent of being a soldier in Nimar was patience, vigilance and self-discipline.  The other ten percent was being brave and heroic when the time came.  Attacks on the city were infrequent – months would go by without any action – but when they did occur, attacks often had fatal consequences and caused huge damage to the city buildings.  What mattered to Bayoud was being ready, for the slightest delay on his part could spell disaster for those he loved and cared for inside the walls.  All newly graduated soldiers started out on watch for the first three years, patrolling the massive outer city wall on a constant twelve hour shift.  Once you ranked up from experience and age, you’d then get the easier jobs of sitting inside coordinating the soldiers or, better yet, be chosen to go on a scouting party like the recent one that had left earlier that day.  Bayoud had grown up listening to the heroic tales of previous Grandmasters and Master soldiers and wanted his name to go down in legend someday as well. Perhaps one day, he would wield the ultra-weapon of his people – the giant axe called, ‘Gravemaker’.

At 6ft 5”, Bayoud was tall but his bones outpaced his muscles and his build was lanky as such.  Smarter than the average soldier, Bayoud’s intelligence had not gone unnoticed by the Masters during his training.  Every soldier was equipped with a 5ft wooden spear and a knife.  Only the Masters and the elders had alternative weapons, passed down from one to another, which were custom-designed and extremely valuable.  Max turned around to survey the town. 

“We should be with the party that left today to kill the snake.  Greater strength in numbers I say.”

“And if the serpent kills all the soldiers, who is then left to defend the city if we’re attacked by golems or the serpent in its vengeance?” responded Bayoud.

The mention of golems – the biggest threat to Nimar – quickly shut Max up.  Bayoud stared intently out into the darkness that enshrouded the lands to the south.  No one had ever ventured south; the early hunters reported a great flat expanse which they called The Void, a nothingness bereft of life, water, and even shrubs, so no one ever went there. But the south intrigued Bayoud, sometimes on the clearest of nights, when the atmosphere had cleaned itself of dust and sand he thought he could make out a faint violet and green tinge to the southern night sky even if no one else could.  Something lay beyond the horizon, of that Bayoud was certain.  Bayoud’s concentration was interrupted – as usual – by Max, returning to the wall after popping down to fill up his water, or so he hoped he could.

“They’re rationing the bloody water again!  I need to drink more water I think, it stings when I piss,” said Max.

“You should go get yourself checked out. It might not be a lack of water.  A sand leech may have crawled inside you during your sleep. It’s a common problem in our quadrant, something about the living conditions being less sanitary and our beds closer to the ground.”

“What would you know about that? Your bed is up on top.”

Bayoud smiled and replied, “The merits of winning the spear throwing trials.  You should have trained harder.”

“It’s your gangly and unnaturally long right arm that is the problem – no one can compete with it.  Fine, after this shift ends I’ll go see a medic.”

“Good, I’ll come with you to make sure you go.  I know you don’t like those cacti needles.”

Max liked to play the tough guy, exaggerating and hamming up the bravado, but Bayoud knew his friend was no natural soldier.  In previous attacks Max had been nowhere, rearing his head only when the danger had passed.  Bayoud sensed Max’s overt swagger was because his friend was actually on edge because the city was emptied of its soldiers, especially Grandmaster Jax. It was the elder who usually took care of any attacks. 

“Here, have some of my water if you’re thirsty,” said Bayoud.

Max gratefully accepted a few swigs of Bayoud’s water.  As a child, Max didn’t know what career he wanted to do and, frankly, he didn’t care. Consequently, he was placed into the soldiers’ quadrant by default like so many of the rest, mainly boys.  Gripping his spear and focused on the surroundings, Bayoud trusted his gut and he sensed that the predators outside the walls were watching and waiting for the very second the soldiers dropped their guard.  The greatest enemy was that which couldn’t be seen.  Bayoud kept a watchful eye on the south, his intuition telling him that one day something would come out of The Void.  It was cold.  The biting wind blew in from the south, but Bayoud would take a night shift in winter over a day shift in summer, when the suffocating heat was at its most unbearable.  Bayoud stretched his fingers and suppressed his yawn from the other soldiers.  It would be a typical night of slow-pacing the wall.

 

 

Athmane and Faria,

Nimar,

JD60, Sunrise

 

 

Faria had hardly slept during the night. She didn’t know if it was excitement or nerves she was feeling but, whatever the emotions might have been, they were too much to allow her to sleep.  Like all of the citizens, she didn’t have many possessions – a satchel bag, water flask and some wooden carvings she had whittled when a teenager.  They were her lucky charms and she had taken them into every exam she took, not that she needed luck.  It hadn’t taken long for her and Athmane to organise their things and they’d said goodnight well before midnight.  Despite Athmane’s advice to not bring much, before leaving the dorm Faria borrowed two more satchels from her sleeping roommates, they wouldn’t notice, and she put some empty slates in them with some chalk.  No one really needed the slates anyway and it was important she could sketch out Helven in detail.

Faria left her dormitory, pausing to look back and reflect if she’d ever see it again.  It might not have been luxurious but it was safety and security – home.  The lands outside were a dangerous place, even in the company of an experienced hunter.  Nimar was quiet at night: only the patrolling soldiers made whispers of noise and Faria’s footsteps crunching along the gravel drew their eyes from high upon the wall.  Most of the soldiers thought nothing of it, just another citizen going to the toilet, yet they did wonder why she had so many belongings with her before she passed out of sight towards the gate.  The wind was cold and Faria already missed the relative warmth of her dorm, she wondered if she’d even be able to cope the first night away. 

 

As the first beams of the rising sun un-blackened the southern sky, Faria waited by the gate and passed the time by watching the soldiers patrol the wall.  She spotted Bayoud and waved to him.  Nearing the end of his shift, Bayoud waved back and smiled, curious as to why she had a rucksack but his eyes didn’t linger on her too long, his supervisor, Master Cawes, was nearby and he kept his eyes fixed on the land outside. 

“Good morning.  If you insist on carrying that extra weight, be my guest, I’m not helping you,” said Athmane.

“I know you advised against it, but I decided not to listen to you.  Besides, Prisa said you’re to assist me however you can and I feel it’s important to detail Helven to the maximum.” 

“I had an inclination you’d ignore what I said! Give me a few satchels then.  But if we’re being chased by a golem, these are getting dropped first.”

Grandmaster Prisa arrived at the gate, pleased to see both hunter and craftswoman were on time and ready for the task at hand.

“Good morning to you both.  I trust your Master explained your mission, Athmane.”

“Keep Faria alive, at all costs.”

“You two were chosen for your youth, dedication and excellence in your fields.  I would like you back here in four or five days to report your findings.  I believe that is ample time, but don’t rush.  It’s important you make a thorough assessment and stay safe,” said Prisa.

Another figure approached from behind Prisa – it was Grandmaster Hawk.

 

Grandmaster Hawk carried his longbow and the deadly black arrows in his quill, twice the size of the conventional arrows.  Sporting a black moustache and stubble, Hawk’s fierce blue eyes shone in the dawn sun and his thick black hair blew in the wind, partially covering his eyes.  Hawk had the air of authority about him, and at the age of fifty he was the youngest elder.  Lean, fit and a handsome face, Hawk assumed command of the hunters and the soldiers in the absence of Grandmaster Jax.      

“Congratulations on your number one ranking.  I hear your skill with a bow is almost as good as mine,” said Hawk.

“I came close to beating your record in the training ground, but narrowly missed out,” replied Athmane.

“You should have no problem using this then.”

Grandmaster Hawk handed Athmane his longbow – the ultra-weapon of his quadrant.

“This is one of the three longbows our quadrant possesses.  I have mine back in the Sanctum, Master Thane has his on the scouting party and now you have the other.  No one has been to Helven in over a hundred years and we do not know what beasts may lurk there.  It would be irresponsible of the city to send two of its most promising people without maximum protection.”

Athmane held the longbow in awe.  Bayoud couldn’t help but notice from the wall and stared at the remarkable scenes involving his friend, not caring anymore about being caught by Master Cawes.  The longbow was the most revered weapons in the hunters’ arsenal.  The three longbows were crafted by Grandmaster Rufus two hundred years ago and they were kept in the Sanctum.  The elder hunter was the only one entitled to the longbow and only he, or she, could decide who could wield the other two.  Lighter than Athmane’s current bow, despite its bigger size, it was made of the strongest wood and had double the range of the other bows. 

“You’ll need these arrows for it as well,” said Hawk. 

Grandmaster Hawk handed Athmane a quill with ten black arrows – oak shafts with obsidian arrowheads. 

“Thank you, I’m overwhelmed. I’ll bring it back in one piece,” replied Athmane. 

“Finally, here is a map of the Helven region with the safe route to the centre.  We’ve done our best to reconstruct it out of the mess of parchments we had and I’ve double and triple-checked it.  I hope it will help, trust your instincts though,” said Prisa.

Prisa ordered the soldiers on the wall to open the gate, Bayoud assisted, and the gate slowly began to open with the rising sun visible through the widening gap.

“All being well, I’ll see you again soon.  Good luck,” said Prisa.

Without hesitation, and happy to escape the city once more, Athmane confidently walked out of the gate with Gryth’s ashes safely in his satchel and the fierce longbow proudly on his back.  Athmane wasn’t a Master, but he sure felt like one now.   Faria followed behind, pausing slightly as she walked on the outside ground. Resisting the urge to looking back, she ran a little to catch up with Athmane and then kept pace. 

On the wall, his shift now over, Bayoud watched his friends leave with curiosity. First the large party of soldiers and now this. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on and he felt like, out of the four of them, he was the one least developing as even Mary was shift supervisor during the day.  Bayoud left with Max to the medical quadrant and then he would try to gather as much gossip as he could from the city. 

Shadows in the Sand - Chapter 3

Athmane,

Nimar,

JD59, Afternoon

 

 

Athmane was walking through his quadrant where the hunters trained and lived.  This sector was always the busiest, as the elders always placed the greatest emphasis on gathering food.  There always had to be a minimum number of hunters, the city could get by with fewer medics, crafters and soldiers but it would soon collapse without the hunters bringing in the food.  The elders knew exactly the population of their city and the minimum amount of food and water required to sustain them. 

New trainees were busy in the archery range, setting traps in the training ground and studiously listening to all the Masters had to say within the school buildings.  Athmane smiled, he was glad those days were behind him.  Unfortunately, this quadrant was so busy because it also had the highest turnaround rate.  Nearly 30% of new hunters died in their first few months outside the city – snakebites, exposure, dehydration, golem attacks, climbing accidents – it was a tough and merciless world outside the walls.  It all seemed easy to the trainees when they went on field trips with the Masters, but out on their own, it was a different matter.

Currently, there were seventy-two active hunters in the field, ten in the medical quadrant recovering from various injuries and twenty-four Masters.  Athmane proceeded to his Master’s quarters, whose name was Master Doma.   Athmane walked into his Master’s quarters, on the stone wall was a giant chalk drawn map of the area Master Doma was responsible for.  Slates covered his stone desk, each one was a tablet with the symbol of a hunter under his command and, below each symbol, a chalk tally of supplies gathered.  During his active days Master Doma was always glad to have company in the field – unlike Athmane – he loved the sound of his own voice more than anything.

“Welcome back, Athmane.  Unless my tally is wrong, you’re nearly half way to meeting your monthly quota already.  Not bad, you clearly learned from the best,” said Master Doma, smiling and laughing.

Master Doma had always been an optimistic person, he believed in motivation through constantly expressing a positive and joyous outlook on life.  There were much grumpier Masters out there and Athmane appreciated his good fortune.  Master Doma was tanned, with a tuft of blonde hair sticking up above the forehead, although the rest of his hair was receding.  He also sported a patch of black facial hair below his lips.

“The Erevas Outcrop has been very good to me this month and it’s pretty safe.  Life stocks are high at the moment, I feel it could even accommodate more hunters if you so desired,” said Athmane.

“Maybe I’ll rotate a few newbies into there then.  Now, on to business.  I’ve selected you for a mission of the highest importance.  Grandmaster Hawk consulted all the Masters and asked us to call in the best hunter.  Gryth was the best, but he died yesterday. You’re now number one.”

“What happened to him?” Athmane had been good friends with Gryth all through training and they regularly bumped into each other in the field and swapped news, his death came as a sad shock.

“He was bitten by a sand viper and panicked, running back to Nimar instead of staying calm.  He collapsed outside the walls before the medics could revive him.  I’m choosing you to replace him on a mission organised by the elders.  You are to assist a craftsman as he, or maybe she if you get lucky, explores the Helven region.”

“I’m essentially on babysitting duty then?”

“Yes, and you’ll be the best babysitter this world has ever seen.  Keep the crafter alive, that’s your assignment.  Grandmaster Prisa will meet you at the gate in the morning to give you your instructions.”

“I hope I’m not stuck with some old grumpy crafter who can’t keep up.”

“I doubt it.  Grandmaster Hawk said urgency was paramount and fitness was essential.  They won’t send someone who can’t handle the field.”

Athmane thought of Faria, it had to be reason she was called to the Sanctum and he smiled.

“I suggest you get yourself off to medical for a quick check-up and a little clean-up wouldn’t go amiss either. You might be the best, but you stink.  Good luck.”  

Athmane smelled his armpits, perhaps Master Doma had a point.  On the way out Athmane stopped by the archery range, where he deposited the five arrows in his quill and replaced them with repaired ones.  Even emptied of nearly all its soldiers, the city was still too cramped for Athmane’s liking.  After watching the trainees firing at targets in the archery range for a while, Athmane went to his dorm to pick up a satchel and a spare wolf-skin cloak before leaving to the morgue.  The hustle and bustle of the noise reverberated off the stone buildings, while the sun’s heat remained trapped within the narrow gaps and streets.  The breeze did little to quash the heavy and punishing air.

 

The morgue was a small, grim, grey stone building on the outskirts of the hunters’ quadrant nestled up against the wall.  The dead were kept as far away from the rest of the city and their bodies disposed of within hours.  As Athmane entered he saw that a body was already in the fire and smouldering down into ashes.  A hole in the wall channelled the smoke through a wooden pipe out of the city. The smoke was then carried by the prevailing wind away from the city (on a good day). 

“That’s Gryth, I assume?” said Athmane.

“Yes.  Been a busy two days unfortunately, only just got round to burning him,” said Teoth, a trainee hunter in his early teens assigned morgue duty for the week. 

“I want his ashes.  You can use my satchel to put them in.”

“Very well, you can collect the ashes by sunrise.”

Athmane wanted his friend’s ashes so he could scatter them in the wilderness, not here in the city where his soul didn’t belong and would never find peace.  Gryth was a true hunter, his passion for the wilderness and the hold it had on him was obvious to anyone.  Athmane left his satchel and then went to the hunters’ dorm to try and rest. He’d decided to skip the medical check-up – there was nothing wrong with his body.  The dorm was empty most of the time, but today Athmane found two other hunters fast asleep already. 

Using some of his water, he wiped his body and then crushed some juslen herbs, their fragrance masking his body in a sweet and pleasant odour.  Feeling tired all of a sudden, Athmane planned to lie down and collect his thoughts for a few minutes before heading to find Faria. But under the shelter of a roof and the protection of the soldiers on the wall, a deep sleep consumed him.  This part of Nimar Athmane did miss.   

 

 

Athmane and Faria,

Nimar,

JD 59, Evening

 

Faria had finished her day shift.  It had been a long afternoon but fortunately being a supervisor carried with it the power to tell her workers to stop asking questions and to concentrate on their work.  She’d discussed for five minutes with her co-workers, with Master Hamed eavesdropping, that Prisa wanted to know more about the new toilet system design. Yet she could sense their suspicions and unease. 

Faria hurried off to find Athmane in the hunters’ dorm, having expected him visit her. She had, after all, been in the Sanctum – a hugely rare event.  Faria gingerly opened the door.  The last rays of the setting sun shone through the roof and dimly illuminated the room, she saw Athmane fast asleep on the bed.  The room smelled nice, if a little heavy on the sweet side with a touch of spice.  It nearly made Faria sneeze but she repressed it, not wanting to wake the others.

“Athmane,” said Faria, touching him dotingly on his shoulder.

Forgetting where he was, Athmane woke with a jolt and instinctively sprang upright, reaching for his knife.

“It’s me!” shouted Faria.

“Faria!  I thought a golem’s tongue was licking me.”

Faria hit Athmane softly on his arm and said, “My hands aren’t like one of those beast’s tongues!”

“They are quite rough, no offence.”

“Any crafter without rough hands isn’t a true crafter.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.  You’re finished with the Sanctum?”

“Hours ago, I had to go back to my shift but now I’m free to prepare.  I’ve been tasked to go to Helven and evaluate the land for access, with a hunter to guide me.  Are you my hunter?  Is that why you came back?”

“Yes.  It wasn’t due to be me, but Gryth died yesterday.”

“It’s a shame about Gryth; I know you two were good friends.  Did your Master tell you about the mission?”

“Only that I had to guide you and keep you safe.   Helven is a forbidden area for us to go, truth be told I’m a little anxious.”

“Prisa said she will double-check the map Grandmaster Hawk drew tonight and hand it to us tomorrow, supposedly with a safe route through to the centre.”

“I hope she gets the map right, one wrong step and we’re dead if the stories are true.”

“Is that all your Master told you, to guide me?”

“Yes.  Why?  What else is going on?”

Faria whispered into Athmane’s ear everything about the dried-up water pool, Dunein and relocating.  It dawned on Athmane that this was suddenly a lot more than just accompanying a craftswoman. 

“Come, let’s go to your dorm and I’ll help you prepare your things.  I shouldn’t have fallen asleep, everything just got a whole lot more serious.”

“Maybe you were more tired than you realised?”

“I think it was the herbs, perhaps I used too much and the scent knocked me out.”

“It is pretty strong in here, nice though.  You don’t smell bad if that’s any help.”

“Should we tell Mary and Bayoud?” said Athmane.

“Bayoud is on nights, he’s already up on the wall.  He doesn’t like being distracted; you know how he is with duty.  I couldn’t find Mary either, she must be working extra hours and visiting dorms.  We’ll tell them when we return from Helven.” 

This would be the first time since graduation that they would spend more than two days together, and the two friends looked forward to each other’s company.

Shadows in the Sand - Chapter 1

I

Athmane,

Erevas Outcrop,

JD 59 of the Year 321, Dawn

 

As he did every morning, Athmane watched as the red sun rose slowly up from the western horizon.  The giant ball of flame wasn’t bright enough yet to hurt his eyes and Athmane could clearly see the three huge black spots that marred its surface.  He didn’t know what it meant and he didn’t care, all he wanted was for the warmth to come back to his blood. 

The desert, especially in winter, was cold at night and the strong wind blowing in from The Void far away to the south made it even colder.  Athmane had taken shelter overnight in a hollowed out limestone overhang, one of many in his hunting area.  Millions of years of erosion and weathering had left it broken, loose and precarious to climb on but Athmane had no other option. Without shelter from the biting wind he would inevitably fall ill.  Between the ages of eight and eighteen he had been taught the skills needed to be a hunter and to survive for long periods in the wilderness. Athmane could set traps but was particularly lethal with his weapons – a bow and arrow, spear and knife.  He had never liked killing with his knife, close combat was not his style and using it meant that he had missed with his spear and arrows.  However, Athmane was the top marksman from his class and he was confident of his ability to hit anything within 50 metres.  At the age of twenty, despite his youth, Athmane had a mature head and he was one of the very best hunters Nimar had.

As the light returned to the desert, it revealed to Athmane’s eyes a thin veil of mist that had blanketed the sand and, after taking a moment to take in the new day, he gathered his spear and bow and carefully climbed down to the flat, gravelly sand plain below.  It was time to hunt and then return to Nimar.  A city of wind-whipped and sun-baked stone, Nimar was the last remaining dwelling of humankind in the land.  He knew exactly where his city was and Athmane could judge the distance he was from Nimar to the nearest kilometre.  Athmane had found it difficult in the beginning to correctly estimate the distances when dealing with the flat, deceptive landscape.  Now he was experienced enough to know he could make it home on the water he had remaining and bring back the food before it went off.  Being a hunter was more than about killing.  To be a hunter was to be selfless, it was useless killing precious life stock if they couldn’t bring the food back in time for the benefit of all in the city. 

The landscape offered little in visual enlightenment but Athmane didn’t mind, in fact he found it peaceful.  Out in the wild he was his own boss, in charge of his own destiny and at one with nature.  He preferred the silence of the land to the noise of the city.  Athmane had chosen to be a hunter gatherer – some of the children weren’t so fortunate in knowing what they wanted to do – and he had never contemplated any other path.  As early as he could remember, the lands outside the cramped and bustling city had fascinated him.  Athmane was sociable when he needed to be, indeed he had very good friends from within the four quadrants, but alone with the land was where he was most content.  The passing wind and streaking whispers of sands across the landscape was all the conversation he required.  In truth, he didn’t look forward to his retirement and having to teach, yet he was a long way away from that and took comfort in it.  Retirees became known as Masters, expected to train new recruits, procreate and be called upon when needed.  Masters never really ‘retired’ in the proper sense of the word; Nimar was a machine that could not afford for even a few of its cogs to stop working.  Being a Master, however, did afford an escape from the menial jobs for a more comfortable life with a higher command and more respect. 

Athmane raised his bow; his sharp brown-coloured eyes had found their prey: an adult antelope, upwind of Athmane and its senses sluggish to adjust to the morning light and mist.  Every part of the animal’s body would be used, once boiled down and placed in a stew it didn’t matter to the people of Nimar whether they were eating a prime piece of thigh meat or a bit of nose or tongue, it all tasted the same.   Food was food and the meat provided necessary sustenance.  Athmane could hunt and cook his own food in the wild – a perk of the job – but he had to bring back enough meat, berries, herbs, dates and other forage each week to meet his quota.

Despite the skilled efforts of its hunters, there was never a day of excess food or celebration in Nimar. The land of Empyria was not one that gave, it only took.

 

Twang!  The slender wooden arrow sailed through the air and pierced the antelope straight through its brain.  Athmane rarely missed, even when the wind blew strongly.  Dawn was always one of the best times to hunt and, while hardly teeming with life, this area was always a reliable source of antelope, rabbit, fox, lizard and vulture.   The hunters always sourced responsibly, if they had hunted too much meat one week, they would concentrate on gathering other types of food the next. 

Athmane raced over to the carcass, removed the arrow and stopped the flow of blood.  The last thing he wanted was for a sand golem to pick up the scent, descend from its lair in the nearby outcrops and be on his tail all the way home.  Golems were big, slow, stupid creatures that rarely troubled the hunters but that didn’t mean it was any fun to have one pursue you, especially after it had picked up the smell of food in its nose.  Most of the time the golems slept in their lairs buried under rock and sand, but when they did hunt they mainly went after the wolves in the Black Mountains, or sometimes the people of Nimar, with lethal consequences.  It was defending against the golems, sand eagles and other beasts where the soldiers came in handy.  Using his knife, a serrated piece of flint attached to a piece of wood, Athmane marked his signature hunter symbol onto the carcass.  These symbols were handed out by the Master hunters at graduation and with them they could easily tally up the meat brought in per hunter each week.  It was the meat brought back that earned a hunter his respect. 

Tall, broad shouldered and very strong, Athmane easily flung the antelope onto his bronzed back and carried it by its back legs over his shoulder.  It was a three hour walk back to Nimar.  Dressed in ragged clothes passed down through the generations, made when life was more prosperous in the northern lands, Athmane wore nothing more than a tunic covering his chest to his knees, exposing his lower legs and arms to the elements.

By late morning the land had heated up enough to make Athmane sweat, the cold of a few hours ago now a distant memory and something that he longed for again.  In the winter, Athmane could get by hunting further away from Nimar and its precious water supply, but in the summer months he would never be more than half a day’s walk from it.  The importance of water was the first lesson to be drilled into the new recruits and the Masters would never let their pupils forget it.  Dehydration was the biggest killer. 

Head down and watching his footing, Athmane carefully navigated across the gravel plain and the little shrubs that waited to trip him up.  It was a journey he had walked a thousand times before.  The rocks of the gravel plain were black. Exposure to millions of years of radiation from the sun had transformed their natural, paler colours.  The only sound was that of Athmane’s breathing and his feet trudging along the ground.  Basic sandals made from the carcasses of animals stopped the hunters burning their feet in the blisteringly hot sands. 

Always alert to his surroundings, Athmane’s periphery vision picked up a shape 4 kilometres away to his west.  It was a large party of men, soldiers Athmane presumed, heading away from Nimar and to lands in the northeast.  Athmane guessed something big was going down, soldiers rarely left the city and especially so many – over a hundred, he guessed – but this wasn’t his concern, he was just a hunter.  Athmane had his duty and the soldiers had theirs.

 

Reaching Nimar, Athmane headed for the drop point.  The city gate was slow and cumbersome to open regularly, so the hunters placed their haul on a flat, wooden crate which was raised up over the 3 metre high walls by the on duty soldiers.  The soldier on the wall lowered the wooden crate and Athmane placed the meat on it.   It was a sizeable catch and Athmane was slightly jealous that he wouldn’t get to taste it, for he wasn’t scheduled to return to Nimar to receive new orders for three more weeks.  Athmane turned away from the wall and began to walk back into the wild. 

“Hang on, Athmane.  You have been summoned to see your Master,” said the soldier.

Athmane closed his eyes and let out a sigh.  A few seconds later a wooden ladder was lowered and Athmane climbed up.  On the wall, he already felt uncomfortable by the sheer volume of people and the noise of the town.  Nimar presently housed one thousand six hundred people – it was near saturation point.  The Sanctum dominated Nimar, a tower of sandstone blocks built upwards and outwards in a spiral shape reaching a height of 15 metres above the top of the outcrop.  The rocks of the Sanctum were a fine mix of orange, yellow, red and black sand grains which blended together in a wispy texture as if the very heat of the desert had melted them.  At the top of the spire, the four elders presided and viewed the entire city. 

The elders were also known as the Grandmasters, the most experienced and knowledgeable of their chosen field.  The Grandmasters were elected by the Masters of each of the four crafts – soldier, hunter, medic and craftsman – and they held ultimate authority over each of their respective quadrant.   At the bottom of the Sanctum lay the most precious resource of the city – the water pool.  The very lifeblood of the city, only the elders and a select few had permission to enter the Sanctum and access the life-giving pool.  The Sanctum also housed the dry food stores, should the city ever be under siege or times turn hard and, the library, containing maps as well as various scrolls detailing the land, its resources and its creatures.   

There was no space for the dead inside Nimar, the deceased were burnt and their ashes scattered – even those of a Grandmaster.  At night, numerous torches lit the city fuelled by the oil from the northern tar sands – a concoction of crude black oil which seeped to the surface and mixed with quicksand.  Outside the Sanctum burned the eternal flame, used to quickly light the torches at night time, to cook the food and to light fire arrows in case of attack.  The Southeast quadrant of the city contained the training buildings and sleeping quarters of the hunters.   Staring at the city, Athmane was counting down the seconds until he was back on the other side of the wall.