The Winds of Tepr

Chapter 25

As the first light of dawn breaks across the desert, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, the Yohazatz army, along with their captives, begins its trek northwestward. Dukar, still grappling with the unexpected turn of events, finds himself atop a camel, a position of honor amongst the Yohazatz. He feels the eyes of his comrades on him, their expressions a mix of confusion and envy.

Riding a camel for the first time, Dukar initially fumbles with the reins, but gradually gets the hang of it. The camel moves with a steady, loping grace, surprisingly comfortable compared to the horses he's used to. As the sun climbs higher, its rays intensifying, Dukar notices the Yohazatz soldiers tightening the cloths around their heads, leaving only their eyes visible.

One of the soldiers, the same young warrior who had playfully thrown the arrow at Dukar's feet, approaches him. His camel strides effortlessly alongside Dukar's. "Aren't you too hot in that?" he asks, nodding towards Dukar's iron helmet.

Dukar wipes the sweat from his brow, nodding. "It's insufferable," he admits.

The young warrior reaches into his pouch, pulling out a long piece of woolen cloth. He hands it to Dukar with a smile. "Try this."

Dukar takes the cloth, but his expression is doubtful. "Won't wool make me even hotter? It's used for keeping warm, right?"

The warrior laughs, a sound light and carefree in the heavy desert air. "Wool doesn't make you warm; it keeps your body's warmth from escaping. In the desert, it does the opposite – it keeps the heat out."

Dukar considers this for a moment, then attempts to wrap the cloth around his head. Juggling the reins and the cloth proves difficult, and his efforts are clumsy.

Observing Dukar's struggle, the young warrior performs a surprising feat. With graceful ease, he stands on his camel, which continues to move steadily. In one fluid motion, he leaps onto Dukar's camel, which remains surprisingly calm under his expert handling.

Dukar is startled by the sudden proximity with this person he just met, who, without a word, begins to expertly fold the cloth around Dukar's head. His hands are quick and sure, wrapping the fabric in a way that shields Dukar from the sun while allowing him to breathe easily. He hums a soft, unfamiliar tune as he works, his fingers deft and gentle.

Once satisfied with his handiwork, he pats Dukar's shoulder affectionately, a gesture that leaves Dukar slightly flustered. "There," he says, "much better."

Dukar, still adjusting to the sensation of the cloth around his head, manages a grateful nod. "I'm Dukar, of Jabliu. I come from Tepr. And you are?"

The youth, with the agility of a seasoned rider, jumps back onto his own camel. "Jabliu? Never heard of it, but I knew you were from Tepr. Your language is similar. I'm Ta," he replies with a grin. "Yeah, it's an unusual name. It means 'seven' in your tongue. I'm the seventh bastard of the Khan."

Ta's laughter is light, carrying no trace of bitterness. "Prince Puripal and I are brothers. But don't get the wrong idea. My mother was a prostitute, so I'm not of royal blood or anything fancy like that."

As the caravan continues its march through the vastness of the Kamoklopr Desert, Dukar finds himself increasingly at ease with Ta. The young Yohazatz's friendly demeanor and open nature make the arduous journey more bearable.

Dukar glances ahead, his eyes searching for Puripal. He finds the prince riding towards the front of the caravan, his posture betraying the pain from the wound in his stomach. Dukar hesitates, sensing that Puripal might not be in the state to hear what he has to say.