Tarrin muttered things Sarraya would not like to hear under his breath, adjusting the visor on his nose. It pressed down on his nose in an uncomfortable way; it was smaller than the first visor she made for him, and the edge resting on his nose was almost sharp. But the wind was starting to pick up-nowhere near a sandstorm-and it put the loose sand and dust of the plain into the air. The Sashaida Krinazar began to get lost in the thickening haze caused by the wind sweeping over the plain, but he really didn't need to see them anymore. He knew he was close, he knew that things were going to get serious very soon.

It all came down to how well the disguise could fool whoever was waiting at the end of the road. He felt confident that it was going to work, but things never worked out quite the way he expected most of the time. He looked like an Arakite, and he could speak Arakite as well as a native. His accent was a little strange, but he could pass that off as being from Yar Arak, rather than Saranam. His disguise was an effective one, all the way down to the vegetables in his rickety wagon and the tired horses that were pulling it. Judging from their condition and the fact that they were tamed, the horses had to be farm animals. Tarrin wondered idly just from which farmer Sarraya had stolen the horses when she conjured them. Tarrin hoped that it didn't put the man in a bad spot. He grew up on a farm, he understood just how important farm horses could be to the production of the farm.

He had everything he needed to get past the obstacle ahead. All he needed was an absence of bad luck. He didn't even need or ask for good luck. Just an absence of bad luck. He'd had enough bad luck over the last year, he didn't need any more.

Tarrin scratched at his arm again, enduring the nagging ache of spending so many days in human form. He only had a little more to go, then he would be free of this cursed endless pain.

The stewing over the pain ended late that afternoon, as the sun began to creep towards the horizong, as they crested a small rise and found themselves looking down on what could only be called an army encampment. Fires and ragged tents flanked a cluster of warehouses and buildings, and figures mulled about, sat by fires, or marched up and down or stood sentry to defend the encampment. On the fringes of the fires were large pens, and some of them held Wyverns, which were being tended by human handlers. Beyond the fires and the buildings, much to his surprise, was an expanse of bare rock, which simply stopped. A cliff! Beyond that cliff, a cliff that ran from horizon to horizon, was a bare expanse of beige, a wide swath of sand that extended to the limit of his vision.

An escarpment! He didn't know that was there! And he had no idea how high it was. This changed things, he realized. With an escarpment there, it wasn't going to be just quite so easy as running over a border. That escarpment may only be a few spans high, or maybe a few hundred. There was an escarpment in Shace, his father had told him, a gentle disruption in the grasslands south of the forest that was ten spans high, and ran for nearly fifty longspans from the east to the west. Tarrin fervently hoped that this escarpment was similar to that one, an escarpment easy to navigate.

Tarrin surveyed the land. There was about a longspan of bare rock from the outer edge of the trading post to the escarpment. From this distance, he couldn't judge the escarpment's height, because the featureless sand of the desert was unfamiliar to him and gave him no landmarks to use as a guide. He had to get closer before he could make that kind of guess. Judging from the fires and what figures he could see, there were a few thousand creatures here, and not all of them were the same. Some were very, very tall, even taller than him. Those were Trolls. There were others too, smaller and stocky, with large ears on their heads. They looked like Waern. Some were obviously human, and he even saw a few dog-headed Dargu here and there in the throng.

Again, he was amazed at how whoever had assembled them was keeping order. Trolls considered Waern good eating, and Waern killed Dargu whenever they found them to cut down on competition for a territory's resources. And all of them hated humans, and killed them whenever the opportunity arose. Yet there were Waern and Trolls within spear's cast of one another, and Dargu and Waern actually crossing paths, with no bloodshed. Something had to scare them so much that they wouldn't fight amongst themselves. And anything with that kind of power was something Tarrin had better fear.

The disparity of the group was one thing, but its numbers were the other. The invaders surrounded the trading post-it had to be one, with the number of warehouses he could see-and hemmed the humans inside. He could see some of them, rushing out in relatively empty streets, probably getting out of sight as quickly as possible. He couldn't blame them. There had probably already been any number of messy accidents and object lessons to keep their captive humans under control.

Tarrin considered it. He had to get into and through the post, travel a longspan, then navigate the escarpment to get into the desert. Because of the distance he'd have to travel and the Wyverns that could quickly overtake him, the attempt was something best done at night, when he had the advantage. It was about an hour or so from nightfall, so if he just ambled along and took his time, went slow once he got there and let them put him in the trading post with the other captives, he should be able to sneak out of the city after nightfall and get into the desert. That seemed a good enough plan.

"Look at them all," Sarraya breathed to him. "Thousands! And they're not fighting each other!"

"I know. I've seen this before. There has to be someone commanding them that makes them so afraid they won't kill each other. That's not someone I want to meet, Sarraya."

"I can't argue with that logic," Sarraya grunted in agreement. "It's about a longspan to that cliff there, and it's all desert past it. We should try it at night."

"I'm way ahead of you," he told her as he urged the tired horses into a slow walk forward. "Do you know how high the cliff is?"

"I didn't know it was there," she said hesitantly. "Let me go see. I'll be back in a while."

He felt her lift up from the top of his head, and the sound of her wings faded quickly as she darted towards the escarpment. Tarrin sighed in relief. At least he would know if he'd be jumping off or climbing down the cliff before he got there.

Moving as if he had all the time in the world, Tarrin's wagon approached the post and its occupying force. Tarrin used the time to prepare himself, to suppress the urges he knew would come if he was put face to face with Goblinoids. He had no idea who he'd be dealing with when he got there, whether he'd be trying to talk himself past a human or a Goblinoid. He had to be ready for either eventuality.

When he was about five hundred spans from the outer edges of them, two armed humans on horses rode towards him. They wore black leather hauberks underneath a voluminous sand-colored cloak, and both of them looked uncomfortable wearing the armor in the dry heat of the summer afternoon. One of them looked Dal, the other Torian. Both had black hair, with one man stocky and muscled with wide features, the other built like a reed but with considerable height. Tarrin let them ride towards him without stopping. After all, he didn't know who they were and what they intended to do.

"Hold!" the Torian said in harshly accented Arakite. "What business you have here?" he asked in broken Arakite.

"I speak the western trade tongue," Tarrin said in heavily accented Sulasian, which was something of the common trade language in the West. An Arakite wouldn't know it to be Sulasian, so he didn't call it that. "What is all this? Are the Selani attacking?"