Brother of the Desert Rats

Brunhelm

Brunhelm was not at all like the picture that Zaelan had created in his mind. He had expected dusty worn tents lined in a row. A large camp that rogues like the Dune men would call a city. But it was nothing like that at all.

Brunhelm was a city indeed. It was built for strength and protection, with none of the fancy intricate designs of the Eastern palace. Entering through the thick sturdy walls and into the streets within, Zaelan could immediately see the struggle of the people within. The wooden roofs were splitting under the heat of the sun, and the roads were lined with trash. Overhead, rugs and clothing had been hung to dry on ropes that were tied from one house to another. It reminded Zaelan of the poor ends of the city in Rune.

But as he saw the people running from the houses to cheer the returning hunters, he no longer saw the people's poverty. They crowded around their horses, their arms upheld to clasp the men's hands. The womenfolk wept joyfully into their aprons, and children skipped about excitedly.

Chief Balor pulled his horse to a halt, his expression a mixture of pride at seeing his people, but also a hint of sorrow for his ill news. He held up his hand, and the crowd became silent as they gathered around him.

"I fear I do not bring good news," Chief Balor announced in a loud voice. "It was a bad hunting season, so meat will be scarce. But we won't give up so easily. We will rest for a week, before we head out again. For now, tighten your belts and ration your food. But do not fret, we will make it just as we always have. And I promise you this. It won't be this way forever. Times are changing and so will we. I won't allow us to live like beaten dogs in hiding. We WILL get back what was ours."

The people cried out in agreement, their eyes alight with hope and determination.

Staring down into their faces, Zaelan saw them for what they were. People who were doing the best they could to survive. They weren't at all like the "desert rats" he had read about in his history books.

He felt his face flush hot with shame and bowed his head. The brand scar on his forehead seemed to throb, reminding him of who he was. His heart began pounding wildly in his chest and he gasped for breath. The noise of the people chattering about him seemed to grow louder. It surrounded him, making him feel small and suffocated.

A hand touched his arm, and he flinched violently. Raising his head, he saw through his blurred vision that Ara had drawn her horse back beside him.

"Zaelan?" he heard her voice murmur. But it sounded distant and distorted. "Are you okay?"

"Hell," he choked out. The ringing sounded in his ears, and he raised his hand to beat at his head as if it would drive it away. "Isn't this a living hell for us both?" He looked into Ara's face, as his vision began to clear. "I am a Runen among men of Dune."

Ara reached out to take his hand in hers. She pulled it away, her grasp tightening as he tried to pull it away to cover his ears again.

"We are not monsters, Zaelan. Nor are you our enemy. Not unless that is how you wish it to be." She leaned forward, her eyes staring into his. "I will protect you, Zaelan. From my grandfather, the people, and even yourself. Nothing will harm you here. I won't allow it."

Zaelan's hand dropped numbly to his side, but his breathing came steadier now. He watched at Ara prodded her horse to move forward back to Chief Balor's side.

I will protect you, Zaelan.

Her words still hung heavily in his ears. And they hurt him just as Emir calling him brother had. Why? Why were all the wrong people saying those words to him? Emir was a mutt of mixed race, a hostage of Dune, and yet he had called him brother. He had been loyally faithful as Zarek had failed to be. And Ara? Ara was the princess of Dune, his master. Why then had she been the one to utter those words, that his own father had failed to utter.