The Winds of Tepr

Chapter 46

Outside, the desert unfolds in an endless sea of pale dunes, interrupted by the occasional rocky outcrop dusted with frost. The sky, a vast expanse of clear, cold blue, seems to stretch infinitely. Sparse clusters of hardy shrubs dot the landscape, their muted green leaves rimmed with a delicate layer of ice. The sun, a low and feeble orb, casts long, sharp shadows and a cool, almost ethereal light over the scene.

The carriage, a grand vehicle of polished mahogany with gold-trimmed edges, glides over the uneven terrain. Its wheels, reinforced with iron bands, crush small stones and raise wisps of dust. Richly embroidered curtains hang in the windows, fluttering gently with the breeze. Inside, plush velvet cushions in deep reds and purples offer luxurious comfort.

Dukar, however, feels none of the enchantment the landscape might offer. He shifts uncomfortably on his seat, the softness of the cushions doing little to ease his restlessness. His eyes, though taking in the scenery, are glazed with boredom. Every jolt of the carriage reminds him of his preference for the freedom of horseback, the wind in his hair and the ground close beneath his feet.

Puripal, on the other hand, is the picture of relaxation. He lounges back, humming a tune that occasionally breaks into a soft whistle. His eyes are half-closed, and a contented smile plays on his lips.

Dukar sighs deeply, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet carriage. He looks at Puripal, whose hum seems to only grow cheerier in response. Finally, Dukar can stand it no longer.

"Can I drive the carriage?" he blurts out, his tone a mix of desperation and hope.

Puripal's eyes open fully, and he regards Dukar with amused disbelief. "Drive the carriage?" he echoes, a chuckle escaping his lips. "You must be joking."

"I'm not," Dukar insists, his frustration evident. "I'm bored out of my mind in here."

Puripal laughs, a rich, hearty sound. "You really must have lived the life of a peon before, haven't you? Never experienced the finer things in life."

Dukar's eyes flash with indignation. "There's nothing shameful about my Tepr way of life. We value practicality and connection with nature, not this...."

Puripal mocks, raising an eyebrow. "This is the norm for someone of my rank. Learn to appreciate it."

Dukar leans forward, his gaze intense. "I've learned to appreciate the open sky, the feel of a horse beneath me, and the freedom to move as I please. Sitting here, feeling every bump, is not my idea of luxury."

Puripal grins, clearly enjoying the banter. "Well, perhaps you'll come to see the benefits of a slower pace. It gives one time to think, to plan."

Dukar snorts. "Time to go mad with boredom, more like."

Puripal shrugs, his hum resuming. "Suit yourself, Dukar. But I promise you, by the end of this journey, you might just come to enjoy a bit of comfort."

Dukar mutters under his breath, looking back out at the landscape. "Not likely."

As he continues to stare out, his eyes narrow against the pale light of the winter sun. Its position in the sky tugs at his instincts. The shadows cast by the dunes stretch in the wrong direction, and the sun, which should be dipping on their right, now drifts slowly down on their left. His brow furrows as realization dawns.

"Why the detour?" Dukar asks, his voice edged with curiosity and unease. "We could take a more direct route to Pezijil."

Puripal chuckles, adjusting his position to face Dukar. "Ah, but where's the fun in that? We're heading southwest to Agan-An first."

Dukar frowns, his lack of knowledge about Yohazatz politics evident. "Agan-An? What is that?"

Puripal's eyes twinkle with a mix of amusement and seriousness. "The Agan-An are a small tribe, once loyal to Yohazatz, now under Moukopl control. They're still loyal to us, though, which makes them useful allies."