Liron felt strange.
After their reconciliation, he hadn't become friends with Bran, but they stopped their hostility. They talked here and there, mostly about the mission, Sannara, or smithing. Having worked at a forge gave Liron some know-how even if he only shoveled the coal.
Bran's anger had cooled completely. He never threw insults at him or appeared disturbed by his presence. The brute had gone, but his absence left the reins to the melancholy deep inside him. Bran often lost himself in his thoughts, patting the gila. Watching him, Liron knew what he drowned in. He never let him, beginning another conversation. They both carried Nordland in their hearts, their veins pumping snow. It was easy talking to him.
But no topic lit up his mood. Except one.
"Angin took you as his apprentice?" Bran asked, mouth agape.
"I know. Kinda pointless now that I'm a Wizard, but I like havin' him there. Helps with everything."
"Aye, must be… nice…"
Liron examined Bran. The wonder bloomed in his features, demanding to be let free, but he tried to keep them locked away.
"Alchemy, huh?" Liron asked.
Bran startled, jumping in the saddle of the gila. "Wh… what? I… I don't know what you mean…"
"Please, it's written all over your face. You wanna be Angin's apprentice, too, right?"
Bran stuttered, twisting the reins in his hands. "I… I would never…"
"No time to lie, Brani," Liron said.
Bran paused, frowning.
"The name was Emma's idea. And you won't get away. You wanna be an Alchemist. A fine thing to be. Why not just ask Angin? He'd be open for another apprentice. Would be over the moon, I think."
The desert's silence answered for Bran at first, but Liron never left, refusing to go without an answer. Bran sighed, avoiding looking at Liron. "I… it's clear why. I don't have the smarts to be one. Alchemy means knowin' and usin' that knowin'. I'm nothing but a smith. Have you seen Alchemists? They are all fancy and book readin' kind. Nah, there's no place for me there."
"Bullshit," Liron said. "Look at Angin. Doesn't strike me as the fancy kind. And who told you you're not good enough?"
"My ma, my pa, the folk workin' alongside me, most folk I've ever met, the…"
"Well, fuck 'em. They don't want you to try 'cause they're either too afraid to try themselves or they like someone to pick on. Stand proud, Bran, you're smart."
Bran blinked at that. He hid his face again, a smile twisting his features. Liron saw tears in the boy's eyes.
Bran cleared his throat, regaining control over himself. "Thanks. That's… good to hear."
"Why Alchemy, though? If you don't mind the question. Most want Magic or become a Knight Dracon. Why do you want to become an Alchemist?"
Again, the desert answered for him. But this time, Bran raised his head high, absorbing its beauty. And all its questions.
"'Cause I want to know."
"What?"
"Everything."
That Liron could understand. A goal. One to be admired. One that required no bloodshed, unlike his.
He liked Bran.
He also liked Shae. A lot more, but she remained a secret to him.
They had sparred this morning again, and she became the wind once more. Her joy was so pure. She danced around, avoiding Liron's haue and defeating him countless times. She never summoned her Conduit in full, utilizing smaller aspects to fight Liron. Her subtle control forced Liron to do the same. He could have unleashed an explosion, but he needed her sublime handling of Magic.
After he had pulled out his face out of the sand again, Shae watched him. Her smile had a curious edge to it. "You are strange."
Liron blinked. "I… I guess so."
"You never get mad. No matter how often I beat you."
"Well, you're better than me. You earned your wins. There's nothing else to it."
Her eyes had studied him like the anomaly he was. She had searched for the true face, believing the boy in front of her to be a facade. As she had found no trace of deceit, her smile had broadened. "That's rare. Come on. Stand."
Shae's enthusiasm gave Liron's wings, his heart beating with new found strength. The snow in his veins melted to fire. As he took his stance opposite to her, he realized that Shae had two sides. The proud lion born from stone, unmoving as the ground itself, and the fox. Free as the wind, she was mischievous but also alive. Liron had to respond in kind.
He had lost again, though.
And with his final one, they'd had to go back to the others. The fox had retreated into her den, departing with a heavy heart. The lion had returned, and Shae had become iron again.
Liron felt strange, indeed. For the first time in his life, he liked where he was. The heat wore him down, and danger stalked the desert. But he would have liked these days to last longer. What was he to do with this sensation? Liron understood survival and enduring. He knew how to persevere and force himself whole again after shattering. This, though, was alien to him. Good things didn't happen to him without a consequence. It had taken the vision for him to find Angin and the rest. He had rescued Emma, but he had suffered, and Kupferrang had died. What would fate ask of him for his content?
Dark thoughts. And as Liron had done for Bran, Emma did the same for Liron. She had refused to wake early to train, so she practiced her Magic while they walked. She switched between illusions, becoming each member of their party. Bran laughed hard at her impersonations, finding her dumbest jokes funny. With last night's resolution, they had become fast friends.
News of Ragner lit Liron's dark mood, too. They had done their part, causing chaos among their enemies. They had returned to a hiding spot east of them. Close by, but days of travel separated them. And with an imperial army on waiting, Ragner and the rest could not reunite with them until they had reached calmer regions.
Angin had brought them similar news. "I have him," he had said. "Everything worked out fine. That's a change, huh? What? No, I'm speaking with them. Wran, could you please… What? Solia, fine. Liron, I'm supposed to give you Wran's regards and thanks. He says you brought some new life to this dead desert. Happy. Solia stand with me. Liron, keep steady. We will be with you in a day or two."
Things did look up for a change, indeed. From here on out, they had to stay hidden, leaving behind traces for Adenius to find. The Inquisitor would know these to be placed for him, a trap he would see coming. But he had proven two things already. He had no time to waste, and he loved a good challenge. What's better than stepping into the trap his prey had prepared for him? Who would be the hunter and who would end up being devoured by the other?
Zonis and the agents handled the traces. They could not afford to make them too obvious. The imperial army loomed over them, and they would not hesitate to join the hunt given the chance. Not that they would have much opportunity to do so, as the Qyoral forces would keep them at bay. Why risk a confrontation with an enemy where victory is not guaranteed? The Qilesh were their shield. One that would destroy them if they moved in too close.
But their inherent danger and strength cut down all of Adenius' options. He could not move at them like he preferred. Even with his Fides, he would struggle against an entire Qyoral army. His creature would prevail, but it would leave him open for Liron's blade. And once Bloody Wran entered the field, the desert would know Adenius' screams and the taste of his blood. Liron would, too. He would relish them, embracing them as what they were. Friends he would never let go.
They had maneuvered their stakes into their favor, but why stop there? For once, Adenius did not have control over the situation. Liron and the rest dictated the rhythm, and they decided the battleground, too.
Liron and Emma beamed as they had reached their destination. Zonis put a hand on their shoulders. "What a sight. Liron, Emma, welcome to Al Pakris."
Even half buried, the Sannarian holy place brought some wonder to them. Compared to the Empire's dimensions, this place appeared rather tiny. But the desert dwarfed all with its magnitude, the same landscape as far as the eye could see. Al Pakris measured up to a fourth of Kupferrang, but vast sections of it lay hidden underneath the sand. Pillars and temples lurked out of the ground, its surface raw and wounded after centuries at the mercy of the elements. Simple structures, with no greater adornments. Similar to Janloo, the Sannarians preferred a minimalistic beauty. Saying so much with so little.
Among the dozens of buildings, several broken statues stood on little else than their legs. Their head and torso lay next to them. Even with the features carved away, Liron knew who they depicted.
"Harras," he said, standing in front of a statue.
Zonis walked up next to him. The Whisperer had forgiven Liron after Bran had done so, the same levity having returned to him. "Indeed. The Sannarians were some of Harras' most faithful followers. Long before Cyrar conquered the sky, Sannara was even more unforgiving. While no greater animals roamed the desert, the heat alone had hardened men killed if they were not prepared within a day.
"The Sannarians had adapted to it. They were vagabonds. Traveling people that never remained at the same place for too long. But they had their settled spots, journeying between them. They formed clans who often were at odds with each other. Generations of bad blood and warfare. Often, the only thing that united them was their shared customs and holy places like Al Pakris. Only the richest or most powerful were allowed to live. Centuries ago, rivers ran through these regions, allowing them to live here for good."
Zonis ran his fingers over Harras' statue. "All clans came to these holy places and prayed to Harras. He didn't often come to them. You would think they would hate him for this, but as they grew accustomed to His absence, His presence became a gift they cherished. It must have been quite the sight when several clans came here to pray together or join in their rites."
The Whisperer's smiled at Liron. A sad one. Parts of the statue crumbled underneath his fingers, falling apart. "One of the many things my people took from this world. We will never know what it was like. Liron, as the Sannarians have cherished Harras' arrival, cherish all the good things in your life. You never know when they fall apart. And unlike with Him, their absence might be permanent."