The King's Playground: Home, bitter home.

When Edward reached the port, he could see Abel focused on the ship being packed and prepared for their departure. He could see his shape draped in a deep blue tunic, so much more discreet than some of Abel's most common outfits, yet still decorated with golden thread. The fabric looked rich, and gave him a noble touch. His hood was over Abel's head, and his gaze was probably fixated on the waves swirling in the gulf. Edward went to stand at his side. When he looked at the other man's face, it was neutral, yet his lips were thinned out in a way that implied Abel was biting his lower lip. His arms were crossed, but Edward could make out the shape of the old used gloves Abel never wanted to repair or throw away. Suddenly, the man raised his hands to cross them under his hood behind his neck, and breathe out.

"What's on your mind?" Edward called out.


"Oh you know," said Abel "the constant worry of my friend's wellbeing. As always."


Abel would keep his eyes on the water, and Edward tried to gently prolongate the conversation.


"How long has it been since you have left Nahamira?"


Abel did not respond right away. Rather, he eluded the question to answer directly the one Edward was trying to ask gently.


"If this is what youre asking, well, I do not fear repercussions." murmured Abel. "I don't think I am at risk of being excecuted. Al'Bendal Qawin will have to much on his hands to avenge his son's honor.


"Are you really this confident?" pressed Edward "Isn't the prince himself well able to command your arrest and excecute you?"


"I have allies. I know," he said louder "That I'm gambling here, and that yes, I'm getting involved with the governement. But I know it, I'm familliar with it. It is rotten and all, and it's posing danger to people close to me, so I believe it could use a bit of ... Mayhem."


"I know but," Edward winced "It's still getting me on the edge."


"There is no need. I've done this before." He smiled.


Edward only hummed in response. He only wished this story would end rather soon as both of them had been close since meeting, and he selfishly did not want Abel far away from him. He was also very aware of the danger that presented itself to the smaller man. He knew he could fight more than well for his life, yet still, how could you not fear for the life of the people you value the most. Edward looped an arm around Abel's back and pulled him close against his side.


"I know, Abe, I know," he whispered "I also know you will make it back to the Blue Fort."


"You can trust me on that"


In a single step Abel turned to face Edward, wrapping his arms around the other man and laying his head to rest on his shoulder. Edward used his free hand to pull back Abel's hood and run his fingers through the thick black hair.


"Should you really hold me like that in plain sight?" Joked Abel.


"Come on now," laughed Edward "You practically threw yourself into my arms. Who exactly are you trying to fool?"


Abel just laughed. He pulled himself from the hold as the horn of the ship called for the travelers to leave the land. Abel reached into his collar to pull the thick blue silk mask over his mouth and nose, and tie it to the back of his head. Edward reached in and lifted the hood back to cover Abel's hairs. Abel then looked up to Edward and suddenly, he was not the worried man he held a second ago. He was back to being the warrior he has always been. Abel winked at him, as if that was enough of a promise to reassure Edward's worries, and in a way it was. They did not look back on each other as one boarded the ship and the other climbed back up his saddle.





One of Abel's friends on site had told him that some terrorists attacks had started on Nahamira, his home land. The royal family, especially the crowned prince and his daughter, were apparently at risk of being assassinated. A fire had been started once in the palace's temple during the princess's prayers, and her father had been multiple times been shot at with crossbow darts, thankfully he was never hit.


Al'Bendal Hamir, prince of the kingdom, had tried to intercept the terrorist with his own milice, and had discovered that the attacks were supposedly an extremist group of beduins who wanted to overthrow the government, or at least that was what was released officially.


Abel's contact and friend, Mil'Hamad was a beduin himself, and assured Abel that there was no actual organization of beduins trying to assassinate the royal family. In fact, beduins had very little care of the government, since they lived way to far off the coasts to be really influenced by the laws in place in the cities. Their lifestyle was in a way independent from the country, and the tribes to use their own government and report later to the king.


To Abel, the idea that "beduins" were the culprits was not very believable, but he severely lacked proof of his suspicions. He had to investigate on the terrain, if he wanted any chance to help resolve this issue.


Abel did not have good relation with the royal family and the government of Nahamira, but the corruption and manipulation that poised it, he hated deeply. He was close enough with multiple beduin communities to be angered over the fact that they were mostl likeley being used as cover all while being presented as the culprits for something so important. He had to try and help, and his knowledge of the royal family's inner mechanisms would be a key factor.


The boat reached land in the port-city of Fakir, and once again, Abel was mesmerized by her beauty. The daughter of Nahamira. The portrait of the princess in buildings and colorful drapes. The Madina Almina fascinated Abel and was part of the inspiration for his colorful clothes. She was transcending. The grand port opened like a mouth stretches in a smile, and the rest of the city was her face, painted in colorful makeup. The mix of sand stone and pink paint was her blush, and the clothes hanging from every window were her eye-shadows. She was bathed in light, in flowing tissues, in the scent of spices and salt, and the sea wind would send her hair flying everywhere. The only downside of this city was the fact that you got used to the beauty of the city, and it pained Abel.


Sometimes, it was not a little girl, but an old man who lived in the same streets and wanted her to sleep this night, and took her place. He had a fatherly voice, an ounce guttural, and he would sing about the life of the beduins through the desert, or about Amallah and sacred texts. Those were the nights Abel remembered.


Tonight, he had no time to listen to the chants, he slithered through the darkness and to a small door falling apart. He knew who lived there. He has known him for a long time.


Mil'Hamad smiled greatly when opening the door, almost ripping it open in haste. He pulled the masked man in by his chest, and Abel regretted making friends with him for a second. The door slammed shut and he winced, afraid it would shatter on the spot, and thankfully it did not. His mother's tongue rose up from behind him, a familiar language he did not want to admit he missed.


"Abel!" The other man yelled. "My dear friend, you are back in our time of need!"


"Hamad, my friend," answered Abel. "I told you I would be there. Are there no others?"


"I was sent across the sea alone," he explained. "We did not want to attract attention, us beduins are not in the heart of people today."


"I see you dropped the keffiyeh."


"Sadly," he sighed. "It was necessary."


"You'll have it back on your head in no time, Hamad, I promise you," Abel joked.


"You know, Hamad paused, when I told my family you would come, they said it would not be for us, not for Nahamira."


"Why else would I come?" Asked Abel.


"Al'Bendal Malika, of course," he answered. "They say you fancy the princess..."


"Absolute idiocy." Abel almost laughed, after his eyes extended in shock. "She is one of my only friends. And she... Well..."


"Is a she."


"Yes."


"Hmh!"


"Don't you hum at me, Mil'Hamad."


"I just don't believe it is the only reason."


"Why not?" Pushed Abel, taking a seat on the table.


"You did not answer as quickly as I expected," Hamad deadpanned. "I suspect something else is at work."


"No."


"That mean yes."


"No?!"


"Of course it does."


"This discussion is not saving the royal family. Plus, it taught me you must be terrible with women."


"You are escaping the conversation. But you are right," he sighed, "we should concentrate."


"Thank you," said Abel sarcastically.


"I will come back to this, and you wont escape."


"I dare you," he menaced, "I will cut you! Now show me what you have."


"Get off my table," Hamad snarled, "and we can start planning things, you clown."


As Abel got back on his feet, Hamad grabbed some papers and parchments from a badly closed chest and slammed them on the table. Abel raised his eyebrows. What did Hamad had to be so loud for?
Apparently he had located the group who committed the attempts. They appeared to be beduins, but Hamad suspected that they were thieves from the mounts Kahyn, and he came to this conclusion while exterminating their weaponry and thecniques. Cheap, handcrafted bombs made from oil bottles, unpolished and unfinished crossbows, sticks as darts, you name it. Hamad was certain that the thieves had been mandated to act as beduins and commit the assassination in order to take the blame as far away from the actual commissionaires as possible. The folks of the mounts would do anything if paid enough, so Abel didn't judge this as a reach (not more than the official theory).


Abel suspected a great grand cousin, someone far away from the succession role, someone who could only dream of the throne if the prince and his daughter where to die or mysteriously disappear, to be the origin of those attacks. He would have to break into the Palace to find the hypothetical person who commissioned the assassins, or at least someone who knew, who was a link and could tell the assassins where and when to attack, a contact of some sort.


Abel also wondered why the beduins and not the thieves directly, but it came to his mind that maybe the person behind this affair wanted to turn their back on the thieves after their coronation and announce that the thieves had been acting as beduins to take the blame off of them, and use this as a way to not reveal themselves to the public: they would reveal the "real" commissionaires and keep their implication secret.


It would make for a plot twist interesting enough to take the attention of the masses off of them, and place them as a hero reveling the truth to Nahamira. It would then give them a reason to attack the mounts, if there ever was tension building up between thieves guilds and the governement. It was sick and twisted, and it only got more twisted when Abel explained it to Hamad and this one classified this theory as "entirely plausible and probably very close to the truth". It gave Abel a weird, bitter taste in his mouth. They had to break in as soon as possible.


Abel took his bag, and moved to the back of the room to change his clothes under the lamplight. He had picked a tunic specifically for this occasion. If was a mixture of sand and wood colored tissues, and black boots and mask. He would be the same color as the walls and floor, he would be a reflection of the torchlight, the shadow of a passing soldier, the brush of the Liar winds and the steps of a feline escaping the sounds of the city. When reaching for the door, Hamad passed him a crossbow and a quiver of darts.


"Your knifes and daggers are not always enough," he said. "May She bless you."


"She already did."


Abel took the weapon and opened the small door. Hamad took it from his hand to close it behind him, yet he did not do it immediately. He looked at the night before him, into which his friend had dissipated in a step or two. The street was silent, and Abel, long gone in a few seconds, had not disturbed a soul, not even the crickets and drunk kids.





Abel had immediately taken to he heights when he reached the core of the city. Crossbow on his back, he had taken to escalate the minaret of the 7th temple of the city: the burj dhahabiin. It was the tallest one of the 9 temples scattered around, and it was extremely close to the Palace.


The jump was not that hard, but it was the landing that could get easily chaotic. He had to aim well, because if he landed on the cupola, he would probably break through it, but if he landed to low, he would break his legs on the princess's grand balcony. Not a good way to reunite with old friends, that was for sure. No, Abel had to grab the canopy of the balcony. This thick tissue only extended on half the surface of the balcony, and draped down from the cord it was draped over. It looked like curtains, attached onto themselves. This would be what would cut Abel's fall, but he had to lad exactly on the rope, and catch it with his upper body and arms, or else he would fly straight to a painful death.


On the thin stone step, he backed up until his left foot met the air. For a second and a half, the time it took to rise his leg behind him, he was balanced on his right leg on a step as large as his boot. And when he brought his left leg forward, he launched and ran along what seemed to be the edge of the world. His right foot took the last step and his body extended. His limbs stretched before him, reaching for the coming edge, like a feline with claws drown out to grab onto their objective. His shape tipped from straight to curved, taking the form of the fall, a perfect curve of a spay of the arrow shot in the night sky by the skilled bowman.


Jut like the metaphorical arrow, Abel reached his target perfectly, he grabbed the robe at the exact spot he has locked his eyes on, on the middle, and the rope creaked and bend down before bouncing back up and almost shooting Abel up again. He kept his hold on the rope, and landed with his back on the canopy.


He winced, persuaded that he had just broke the crossbow in million pieces, but thankfully it was complete. His quiver, however, had almost emptied itself on the balcony, but then again, Abel's luck had all his bolts flow down on the canopy around him. One of them was poking at his thigh, and reminded Abel that, yes, he was alive and also reminded him he could breathe before passing out on the spot. He breathed out, and raised himself wobbly on his elbows, bringing a hand to his adrenaline-rushed heart. He hadn't done this in a while.


He picked his bolts and let himself down the canopy onto the balcony. He checked his equipment once again, brushed himself off, and turned around towards the princess's room. He raised his head and stopped dead in his tracks, blocked by a blade poking at his neck. He crossed the eyes of his opponent, and their eyes opened widely in realization. Abel used this second as an opportunity to pull his long battle knife and deviate the sword to the side. Then, his guard closed again and he moved forward, grabbing the opponent's collard and bringing the knife to their throat.


"You're not one of them, are you?"


A feminine voice broke the sound of metal cutting through the air, and Abel laughed, clear and true.


"It's a wonder you survived all those attacks, your Highness!" He said.


"I let you attack me," said the woman. "I knew it was you, of course."


"Of course."


"Of course," she repeated. "Now, let me go, would you? This is not how you treat a damsel in distress."


"That blade of yours shows a very distressed lady..." deadpanned Abel.


"Speaking of which, I should get it sharpened. It would prevent your stupid jokes!"


Abel let go of her silk robe and she straightened it. The woman looked furious, but as soon as she crossed Abel's smiling eyes with her anger filled ones, she broke in laughter, half relieved and half nervous. He laughed too, a small and fond chuckle. Her hair was down, and uncovered, and had been cut to her chin. She was wearing chainmail under the flowing robe she innocently presented as her nightgown. Abel gave her a questioning look, and she tucked her hair behind her ears, uneasy.


Her beauty was untouched since he last saw her, but she was no longer as sweet and playful. Her mesmerizing eyes had lost their charming light to a bright rage and determination. To Abel, it only added to her look. It was a look of defiance. Abel thought it made her look like a warrior. It was a surprising change, but a welcome one seeing that it only added to her beauty. He shook his chin in the direction of her hair.


"Al'Bendal Malika, I see you've changed something... I thought you wished to grow you hair and keep it secret. Is there a specific meaning?"


"Not really," she answered at first, before sighing and admitting. "Well, in a way it does. I'd say it's me being provocative."


"Why? And to who?"


"My father," she simply said. "He has taken to "protect" me with his personal guard."


Abel winced. He took another look at the hairs and realized why it made her look like a warrior. Malika had naturally straight hairs, not a common trait, so the cut was naturally the one soldiers wore, and presented at military parades. After all, soldiers only covered their hairs for battles. It was straight, chin lengths and clean cut, it was the exact same.


"You want to be seen as strong and capable," guessed Abel.


"Not only," explained Malika, "but by uncovering my hairs, I wanted to prove that I was the same as the soldiers and other women who aspire to be part of the army. I'm not special because I am destined to the throne."


"How did you come to this reflection?" Asked Abel, "What does this have to do with your situation?"


"People's opinion," she answered. "When my father sent his guard for me, people thought I asked for this protection. Many don't like me, and see me as weak, as taking the security of my father's guard for myself, and for granted. People don't think I'll sit on the throne anyway. They think I'll marry, and be sent away, or let my place to my husband. Cousins are fighting already to marry me, just to push me off the way and to access the throne.


This situation is just a way to put me in a bad position, and get rid of me easily. My father isn't liked very much, and even if he is the crowned prince, I don't think that he will be picked by the King. I wanted to show the people that I was just another warrior," she rushed to explain, her voice cracking, "that I did not want this throne, that I did not believe in the lies we have been told, that I would fight for the truth, that..."


"I know," said Abel. "I will help you. I'm not doing it only for you, but you can guess that we fight the same cause."


"We do," whispered Malika, "Resolving this affair only helps me if it helps the beduins."


She recomposed herself, and turned back inside in a fluid movement of robes and hairs. With single movement, she motioned to Abel to follow her, and slided her blade back in her sheath. Once they were inside, she moved around the gigantic canopy bed that protected her from insects bites and reached a large study. From here, she pulled two letters and marched back to Abel to shove them in his hands.


"This is the language of Forgloir, she explained. The thieves are using it to communicate within the palace without being detected. The letters are mixed with the general mail from Gaisgaich when it enters the Palace, and is picked back up during sorting. I believe one of the sorting agents, or multiple are either thieves or contacts. They use the same method to send the answers back."


"How did you notice this maneuver?" Asked Abel.



"By first figuring who could want me dead and what they could use, or knew what would help them the most. I wondered how anyone could know my schedules, for example. I climbed this suspicious ladder back up to one of the captains in Sarh'Illana's section. I think he is the link between the real commanditor and the army," followed the princess.


"He is responsible of night guards, so he can arrange things to leave open timings for the assassins to attack. I have not managed to climb up higher, but I believe it to be one of the counselors or my grand-cousin Al'Barmir. I am highly suspicious of him, as both him and his sons have made advances towards me."


"One of Sarh'Illana's men?" Abel gasped, "If or when she learns about it, she would want to execute him herself!"


"Yes she will, Amallah bless her soul." Answered Malika. "You can probably find his schedule and such in her office, but good luck breaking in. She does not appreciate you as much as I do."


"Oh really, I hadn't noticed, he said sarcastically."


Abel took to reading the letters he had been handed. He sat on the bed and read the first one. It gave indication on the princess's daily activities, while the second one described one of the attacks, the one where the royal temple had been set on fire. Abel was bothered by the language used, as this was perfect Vrain. This was written by either a scholar or someone higly fammiliar with the language. He who had used the language daily for almost a year would not have been this good. The writing, rough and quick, was familiar to him, he had received written orders by this hand in the past, but his memory seemed to fail him in this time. This indicated it was from a person placed high in the chain of command of the special forces, someone close to Sarh'Illana, the chief commander of the Naharate special forces.


His silent reflection was interrupted bu a grunt and sound of rustling. Someone was climbing up towards the balcony. Abel lunged and hid behind the bed, taking his crossbow and loading a bolt. Malika had heard the sound, and rushed to hide behind her grand wardrobe, freeing her sword from her sheath.


Two men climbed over the fender with difficulty, and when on their feet, one armed a bow and the other unsheathed a dagger. They progressed towards the room, and Abel made a pleasure out of releasing the bolt straight in the bowman's chest. His compatriot turned to his ally who immediately fell dead on his back, and this second of inattention gave Malika the opportunity to jump from her cover and, guiding her sword with both hands, she pierced the leather armor of the man on his abdomen, and the blade went through the flesh with some resistance, sign that the blade was not sharp enough. She pulled her sword back, and stepped away from the man who grabbed his wound and cried in pain. He then launched forward to stab her throat, but Abel jumped over the bed and onto the man's back, grabbing hi hairs and pulling them back, stopping his motion. Malika raised her bloodied blade towards the man, as a menace.


"Who mandated you?" She asked, furious.


"The one who paid us, of course!" Joked the man with a strangled voice.


"I want a name, murderer."


"And I wont say it."


The man coughed blood already, and was practically dead as is. Abel twisted his head sharply, breaking his neck on the spot.


"Why such violence?" Asked Malika, "He could have answered!"


"Obviously not." Abel dropped the corpse. "We won't gain anything from hunchmens."


She made a face. They will not be out of this mess easily. They used spare sheets to bundle up the corpses and hide them on the balcony. Abel left by the door and into the corridor, heading straight towards the old prison, where the military was housed. In the dark corridors, he needed to become shadow again, swipe from cover to cover, and watch his every step and surroundings, not wanting to be caught off guard again. Slowly but surely, he climbed up the stairs and turned the corners that took him to the opposite end of the Palace.


During his trip, he thought about Eldjfäll and the Blue Fort. Oh how he wished this could have been a simple night at the banquet table, the kitchen blessing them with soft scents. Abel remembered one of those evenings, Edward at his side telling him about how well the construction of Gleid was going, and how Varh, his best friend's son had proposed himself to visit the colonies of the Lirio forest to bring back news. He remembered the pride to learn that his friend had began taken responsibilities and actions to help his country.





Back in Eldjfäll, Varh was fulfilling his mission happily, and he too was thinking of his friend. He was thinking, and wondering why he had had to leave for a foreign country on boat, what kind of mission had taken his friend away. He knew, deep in him, that all would end well, maybe it was because to him Abel was invincible, but he knew that whatever troubles he would be face with, Abel would resolve it. What could go wrong with such a skilled warrior and quick thinker?





Everything. That would have been Abel's answer if he would have been asked. It all went wrong. It went shouthwise wrong. He almost got caught twice, and he had had to knock a guard out and tie him up as well as he could with a rope he had to go and find before coming back to tie the man. This was a catastrophe already, and he hadn't reached the floor he needed to yet. This would take him the whole night, and it made him angry.


When he finally reached the floor, he took his sweet time to find the door and break in silently. He closed the door behind him. The woman had not heard him, and was sound asleep. Swiftly, he moved to her office, in the back of the room, next to the window. He began looking for texts in Vrain, using the name of the soldier Malika had given him.


He found a box of letters, but he decided to shove them in his inner pockets and keep searching, he'd read them later. He kept looking, and found a leather clutch with the name of the soldier engraved on. This was it. Sadly, Abel was not only tired, but an idiot, and his "Fuck yes, finally" Resonated like a death sentence in the room.


"I would not use those terms if I were you, Abel alkhayin," said the voice. "You are under arrest."

He sighed at the sound of Sarh'Illana pulling out her own saber, and the blade hissing and thrilling, giving off that characteristic sound of a choir. He turned his face towards her.

"I am mainly looking for more information of the man I suspect to be the commandant of the assassinations attempts..." Tried Abel. "You'd agree with me that this is of extreme urgency, and drop the blade. Maybe you'll even help me, since we work the same cause."

"I am not sure we do."

"I do not wish the death of the princess," he assured.

"That I cannot be sure."

"If I did, I would have taken you out to."

"I can't bring myself to think that you are this intelligent," mocked the woman.

"How nice of you," he mocked back. "The same can be said towards you. I even wonder if I'm not the smart one here..."

"Drop those documents," she ordered "Not only you are a thief, but you will be slowing down my research instead of helping. Plus, who knows if you're not behind this, coming in the Palace to finish the job your friends could not do as well as you."

"I am here to help you find the commanditor." Abel placed the clutch down and raised his hands. "I do not wish this confrontation, Sarh'Illana. You have my respect and trust, I want you to trust me back. Let me help you."

"None can trust you. I saw you take something else. Place it back down, liar."

"I have no plans on leaving anyway."

"I still can't believe this country's best liar." She was singsonging it, almost. Abel frowned. Something was off.

"The best really?" He said blandly. "It's true I'm good at talking. Now, why don't we work together, hm? We have the same goal. You know I we do."

"No we don't."

Abel had heard enough. He grabbed the clutch again. When the crown guard jumped to behead him, he threw the clutch at her face, hitting her in the nose. He use the momentum to launch himself and disarm her. She made a motion to reach for her saber, but Abel guessed that instead of trying to fight for the weapon, she would go for her dagger. He had the wrong grip on the sword, yet he still attempted to cut her movement by slashing forward.

She backed up untouched and Abel used that to take his guard correctly and go for a piercing attack towards her lower abdomen. It would be easier for her to block it, and it was, but she hadn't realized that it left her extremely out of guard. Abel kicked her hands and reached for his long knife. She had let go of her dagger, and used both her hands to grab the blade of the knife going for her calves. She was about to scream for help, but Abel cut that short by headbutting her in the forehead with all his strength. When she was disoriented, he used the back of his knife pommel to strike her on the temple, knocking her out flat.

He barely had the time to catch her before she hit the ground. He dragged her body to the bed and tucked her in as if nothing had happened. He took to the window to escape and shoved the clutch in his tunic. He closed the window as well as possible behind him and started climbing down. He soon realized that this would not be an easy task. There were guards on the battlements and he was literally in plain sight. He could not use the battlements to escape either, not enough of a hide. Abel cursed. He hardly saw a way of getting his arse out of it, plus the sun would be rising in almost an hour, if the sky was anything to tell. Abel cursed again.

Away in the city, he spotted the grand market. A gigantic building that appeared almost small from his point of view. It was long, covered in an intricate roof, and the merchants would soon start to install their stalls. This. He could blend in and disappear in the chaos that would soon arise there. He just needed to actually reach the place. He snorted. Stupid-ass Palace and stupid-ass him for getting stuck against a wall, hanging from a decorative, 5cm large walker that sprouted out the wall conveniently for him to hold onto. His arm was dying on him faster that he had hoped for, and either he'd have to change and stay stuck there until morning, or he had to get off and snick his arse around the damn Palace.

He sighed and let go of his hold, landing a few meters down on a tree in a small inner garden. He got down and crossed the garden, reaching the wall on the other side. He was now closer to the Western wall of the Palace, and it was time for him to try and reach it.

He climbed again, and atop the garden wall, he could see his objective much better. He grabbed onto the wall of the building aside him, probably containing some sort of kitchen/dining area since it had a dome, and climbed up. This wall was less flat, and more decorated that the ancient prison, and it was way easier to find inlet and grip on this wall. He got to the dome very easily, and made his way around without any issues. Once done, he used a thin decorative walker, stretched between each corner of the building and the walls and building around it. One of them stretched to the Western wall, so Abel funambuled his way over.

Arriving at the end of the walker, he crouched and jumped up, grabbing a thin murderess with both hands. He regretted it immediately when his hands twisted and folded in weird, fracture-inducing ways that made him slip out a gasp of pain and another curse. He rolled his eyes at himself and made his best to free one of his hands without falling to his death. He pulled on his hand, throwing the other one up to catch a hole in the wall. Rougher that other inlets before, this one scraped his skin and had him wince. The adrenaline prevented him to cuss out his best insults, and Amallah bless him, he had a stockpile of those.

The ascension proved itself to be a lot more difficult, and Abel pulled himself up the last inlets more with sheer will than actual body strength, since the latter seemed to have abandoned him a few meters down. He was short of breath and sweaty, bloodied hands and his head light when he finally got on his feet, thank Her he was alone. He wiped the sweat off his brows, replacing them with blood and cursed himself at the realization.

This time, the way down would be a real rest compared to the way up: he could use the security ropes laying around for the soldiers to get down with in case of fire or destruction of the wall. He tied himself with the security knot and unrolled the thing on the other side of the wall. Turning around, feet on the wall and rope in his bloody hands, he walked down the wall, wincing as the rope pulled even more skin from his palms, and finally reached the ground after what seemed an eternity.

When turning around, and facing away, he heard screams about intrusion and murder and whatnot. He swiftly disappeared behind buildings and walls, and the sun rose above the Palace as he became wind in the Grand Market.





Hamad was studying the documents spattered around the table as Abel was passing out on a carpet on the floor, his hands bandaged. He had troubles coming to a conclusion on the letters, since his knowledge of Vrain was limited. To him, it seemed only to confirm their previous suspicions, but Abel had told him not to jump to conclusions when he arrived, so he kept from it. He would have to wait for the man to wake up to really understand the situation.

Everything that involved the royal family could be a horrendous mess, like the princess's birth. It was still commonly discussed amng the beduins, especially the surprising fact that people did not took more that a few days to stop venting about the strangeness of it all, it did not even spread North the Naem sea. Hamad's clan was persuaded that there had been some corruption of grand scale that day, not that poor Al'Malika had anything to do with it. He could bet a whole kidney, not his own hopefully, on the fact that she had no idea why he had such a bad reputation in general. In fact, he was going to do so, as soon as Abel would be awake.


Speaking of the devil, the man stretched himself out on the dusty floor.

"Honestly, Hamad", he blurted out, "worse night of my life."

"Maybe because your sleep lasted ten minutes at most," tried Hamad?

"No, moron, that was after the sun rose."

"Oh please accept my infinite excuses," Hamad exaggerated, "Ô highly intelligent creature."

"I could never."

"Tragic."

"Shut your mouth, would you? I wanted to complain and I'm being shut down. I had to tuck in Sarh'Illana, can you imagine?" He struggled to say, words seemed to strangle him.

"How did it come to this?" He squealed, offended.

"If only I had your answer, my friend."

Hamad snickered before hushing his friend to help him. If he would not sleep and recover, than he'd better try and be useful, not that he had not been, but let's not keep his brain from slowing down before he dies of old age. Abel went over the letters with him, and even with his skill in this tongue, Abel was not able to understand the entirety of them. The grammar was thrown around in weird, multi-meaning ways and it seemed as such ever sentence had at least two meaning to it. It mostly confirmed what he believed already, but most of those implied that there was another meaning to them, without revealing it.

One of the last letters sold it to Abel. It referred to Malika as "the daughter". Abel almost laughed. Idiots. They had just revealed that this was not only a political play over the throne, but an actual hatred towards the princess, and the receiver of those letters (the inquisitor of the attacks) was a parent of Malika. And Abel knew about Malika's birth. It could be the prince Al'Bendal Hamir, or it could be her only other family member left.

Abel had a gasp when remembering that one stupid theory he had years ago, when Sarh'Illana would try and discipline his arse by yelling atrocities at him. What if she was not the woman she pretended to be? What if instead of being a distant cousin to Malika on her mother's side, who suddenly appeared in the guard and climbed ranks like a few steps, she was the deceased, faceless, almost queen, mother who brought Malika in the world, and draped her in scandal and shame simply by bringing her life... He slammed the letter on the table and blurted out

"Sarh'Illana is trying to assassinate Malika because she's her mother!"

Another silence resulted in a baffled answered from Hamad.

"You think way to much before speaking. I'll need your trail of thoughts right now, or else I'll have to have you restrained..."

"You know what I'm talking about." He started rambling. "Al'Bendal Hamir was what? Fucking twelve in 1421? How can he father a child at this age? We all know her mother either cheated or carried the child from before. It would have covered her in shame, so everyone said that she died during childbirth. The same year, Sarh'Illana joins the military and quickly becomes the most valued soldier ever? I'm not buying that. You're not buying that. Why is everyone else buying that?"

"Cool, let's say I believe you, which I doubt myself, why would she want to kill Al'Malika?"

"She is still mad about not being queen? I don't know, really, but let me tell you that she was very weird this night, not wanting to resolve the problem, and extremely pushy about the letters. They incriminate her, I'm sure of that. I'm fucking persuaded of that, Hamad!"

"I can see that!"

This was a lot for the beduin. This answered the question he wanted to ask Abel, at least there was no kidneys involved. He laughed to himself. What a mess. If this was enough proof, they could have the soldier arrested in the following day. It bareley felt like enough of a good reason to kill the princess and her father, and it hurted his head. It missed an actual, verifiable motive, such as exactly why would Sarh'Illana want to assassinate her ex lover and her daughter? They had to investigate more onto that, but now that Abel had gladly put her to bed, they'll have a lot more troubles.

Suddently, Abel raised his head ans started looking around. He had heard something, a ruffle of tissue against stone, above his head. Spies in the ceiling? Come around now, he was dreaming. The ruffle was making it's way to the side. There was, in fact, a living, breathing, fucking annoying man in the ceiling. Abel rushed out the door and jumped on a barrel to lift the roof lining made of wood. He fell face to face with an idiot that was trying to listen to their conversation. He grabbed the man by his collar and pulled him out , then dragged him back inside. He got punched in the jaw, but at least the guy was trapped with them now, and Hamad pulled a knife out of it's guard to block the passage of the door he had slammed behind him. Abel threw the man to the ground and stepped on his sternum to pin him down.

"What do you want, death?" Yelled Abel. "What have you heard? Speak or I'll cut your throat!"

"I have not heard a word!"

"I'm not buying any of that shit, you were sent by Sarh'Illana, huh?"

"I will not respond to you!" But he stuttered...

"That's it, he said it," Abel said to Hamad, "you're not returning back to your employer alive."

On these words, Abel kicked him on the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. Of course he was kidding. Abel studied the man's face for a few seconds and snorted, not recognizing him. He thought about recognizing something else... He had not been able to remember the writings on the letters Malika has showed him, yet it was familiar. He thought about them again, his gaze wandering to the table, to the leather clutch, and suddenly it blew in his face. Sarh'Illana had written those... He turned to Hamad, eyes wide open.

"The more I think about it, the more Illana is responsible for all of it. I'm just... We just have no idea why!"

Hamad acquiesced and suggested they'd throw the guy out and cover him in booze to act as if he was drunk. Once the man was no longer on their hands, they had come to the conclusion that only Sarh'Illana could answer their question, only she knew why.

"You should've actually killed the guy," said Hamad.

"I need him to report to Sarh'Illana, explained Abel. See, if she comes for us, she'll put herself in a bad posture that'll make it easier for us to sneak in the palace and reveal the truth. I can't see how else we can antagonize her."

"I see. Clever, but dangerous nonetheless. That's just you as a plan."

"Why would you compare me to my own plan?" Said Abel, confused. "Of course we're similar! I made that up..."


"I don't know," chuckled Hamad, "It's the first thing that came to my mind!"

"Strange mind you have..."

"How long until the tigress comes after us?" Wondered the beduin.

"I'd say not before this evening," answered Abel. "But why? Are you planning something else for tonight?"

"Well if you're asking, I won't by you dinner," joked Hamad. "I wanted to know what would be our next move."

Abel twisted his face under the tissue, trying to plan ahead of the head of guard. This would quickly turn into a mind-guessing game between the two of them, and he did not like those. He came to the decision of packing up and leaving the safehouse blank for Sarh'Illana's men to find. The two of them packed the most important things in bags, bundled up together. Abel wrote a few words on some useless papers, folding them in letters just to give the soldiers a fake hope. They left, spiraling through the thin pathways hidden between houses, looking for a place to hide their belongings.




The door was blown open by the guards, and the small troop of men rushed in the room. Sarh'Illana watched from outside, arms crosses and face stern. She still bore the marks from the night before. She watched her men tore apart the furniture. One of them brought a bunch of letters to her, but she immediately realized that it was not those she was looking for. She took them roughly from the soldier, and tore them up before throwing them over her shoulder. Lips tight together, she called her men. "Enough of this mascarade," she ordered. "Drop everything!"

"Do we try to go after him?" Asked a soldier.

"Are you slow of mind?" She turned to him. "Of course, try and go after Abel alkhayin! We'll catch up to you once you're dead! Idiot! We're moving on, we need to be faster than him, not waste time following him. Back to the palace, immediately! Jaham, warn the messenger. And keep discrete! If you meet Abel, you either try to kill him or die trying, but under no circumstances do you reveal anything! Slit your own throat if you have to, but do not speak a single word to him! Now go, all of you! Quick!"

They all left running, brushing the wind around her and sending the long braids flying. Under daylight, her ebony skin shone with warm with reflects of the sun. A large, still deeply colored bruise on the side of her head caught the shadows and her nose was of a dark purple.

People often compared her to Abel and Al'Hamir, the three of them respectively represented as a panther, a jaguar and a lion. The metaphor of the great felines fitted perfectly this hate triangle: The lion and his tribe, master of the people and owner of the larger territory, the panther, discrete warrior who silently made it's place in the lion's territory all while contributing to the life of it and the jaguar, fast, uncatchable, untouchable even. Brightly colored yet able to be easily unseen. At first tolerated, then said to have grown greedy and hunting directly under both their noses, unnacepting of any truce the Prince may have proposed. This was the story of the people in the Palace, the one they had been told.
Abel knew of it. He knew very well that there never was a truce, and that the truth was a lot less simple.

He also knew more than one way to get in the palace, something more accessible to Hamad than hurling oneself through the night sky. He was going to follow the pathways taken by servants, attempting to keep to the shadows of thin hidden passages. It took them up a few floors of the main building without being seen, but it started getting harder and harder as they got nearer the main kitchens of the palace. Abel was attempting to reach Malika, to warn her of his discoveries. He had to physically slam Hamad back into the shadows more than once, the man did not have the same reflexes as Abel for sure. They ended up hiding in an alcove as many people picked this time to pass by.

"Are we officially trapped in the royal kitchens?" Murmured Hamad.

"I'm never trapped anywhere," assured Abel, "at least as long as I keep quiet!"

He shot the man a look that felt very much filled with curses, and Hamad raised a hand to signify he did not deserve such snark. When the time presented, Abel pulled him out of their hide and to another, less hidden alcove and started pushing at the stone wall. It pivoted, and taking both of them with it. Once in the hidden corridor, they could proceed in the dark without walking on eggs. A few stairs took them to a wooden panel. Abel listened against the panel, then knocked on it. A few seconds later, Hamad was met with the furious face of the princess Al'Malika, and most of her clothes. She stared at Abel disappointingly, yet that did not stop him from stepping into and out the closet. Hamad followed hesitantly. Immediately, Abel dropped the bomb.

"Sarh'Illana is the one that wants you dead. She is the one receiving most of the letters, and she is the one commanding the attacks. The texts you gave me are in her handwriting."

Malika observed Abel's mostly covered face as if she was trying to read any lies that could hide under the mask. The silk let naught pass through, but Abel's eyes were furious, and betrayed, and it convicted the princess that he spoke the truth. It pained her, she was distressed. Fidgeting, she was trying to find her words.

"Why?" Her voice was disturbed. "Why would she wish to hurt me? I have done nothing to wrong her! I can promise you that I..."

"I know!" Interrupted Abel, "I know. She is the only criminal here. Sit down, I'll explain it to you."

"I don't understand Abel..." She said as she sat on her bed.

"Listen closely," he said as he crouched before her, "and bear in mind that none of this is your fault and you'll get out of this stronger. Do you understand this?"

"I do..." She answered, unsure.

"All things lead us to believe that Sarh'Illana is your mother. As to why exactly would this bring her to wish death upon you and Al'Hamir is still vague, but she may know things that none of us do, things that may bring her to her decision. There are reasons, I'm sure of this, and even if they do not excuse her actions, they may help us understand more. Hey, it'll be okay!" He took her hands in his own as she tried to keep her tears from flowing.

"I will reveal it to the King as soon as possible. Until then, Hamad and I will stay to protect you. I'm sorry but I do not care so much for Al'Hamir than I do for you, I know you understand why." She nodded and he copied her movement. "Will you want to be with me when addressing the King?"

"I'm not so sure..."

"You have all the right to be, just like you had the right to cut you hair"

"I know, she explained, but I can't tell if I'll be able to make it..."

"It is your choice to make, and I will not influence it. Tonight will decide the future of the kingdom of Nahamira, and I deeply hope it'll be bright for you."

"Thank you my friend. I will think of it..."

She brought her hand to her face, covering it to allow her eyes some rest. Abel got on his feet and dropped the letters on her study. He then moved to the balcony to have a look at the now slowly descending sun in the sky, and his eyes caught on some movement towards the main gate of the palace. A group of people escorted by knights. A group of white people escorted by knights in bright, full plate armor. Red, gold and white banners, and in their center the Eye, symbol of the Merere pantheon. Banners of the kingdom of Gaisgaich.

"Hamad," said Abel, "come see."

The beduin rushed to the balcony and made a surprised sound when noticing the bright steel.

"By the Mother of all things," exclaimed Hamad, "what are they doing here?"

"Probably nothing interesting to us," supposed Abel, "but I do agree that seeing Gaisgains in the palace after Witty Andès's coronation does give off a very suspicious feeling. Who know, he may be sending men to sign off any accords, or even declare war, it does not concern us immediately."

"What do you mean Gaisgain in the palace?" Asked Malika. "This is a surprise visit!"

"See, Abel! We should worry of that."

Abel made a face under the silk. It could be worrisome, but he was hesitant. Malika came out with them to examine the men that were currently being welcomed in the palace.

"I can't clearly see, but I believe it to be the ambassador," she supposed. "He asked to be moved to Hakim early in this affair, they had agreed with Sarh'Illana that the ambassador will help keep watch of the thieves actions in the city."

"So he has news," murmured Abel. "I would think that Sarh'Illana called for him back, but then if she did after going after me, it should have taken way longer. It's almost a day and night of travel, even if she sent a raven, they are too early."

"Could she have called for them after seeing you?" Asked Hamad.

"Not right after... Still, it would have only been a day of traveling... It does not fit!"

"The Gaisgain either are here for unrelated matters," interjected Malika, "or never really left the capital."

Abel frowned. The sun was only a memory, it's now purple light as it's shadow. He turned to his friends, studying their face one after the other, lost in thoughts.

"I should go down now." He said, determined. "Malika?"

"I will come, but I wish to stay hidden."

"Very well."




Through stone they maneuvered to reach the throne room, grandiose and unmatched, and hid behind richly decorated curtains. The Gaisgain ambassador was already in the room, greeting the King and the prince of Nahamira with unnecessary compliments. Sarh'Illana was nowhere to be seen. Abel had given one of his knives to Malika, and she knew how to use those in case of things going South.

The ambassador started explaining to the king that he had caught thieves passing as beduins talking about the attacks, and Abel sighed. "I knew it" He whispered to Malika who rolled her eyes to the sky. They gave names to the king, sure of their discovery and obviously proud of it. They started turning the discussion towards their prize, as if this was a mere task and not the life of two of the pretenders to the crown we were talking about. Abel had enough. He stepped forward, signing to Malika not to follow him. Some things needed to be said.

"I know one more thing!"

Abel had busted through the curtains, revealing himself to the king and the prince. He stepped fiercely towards the throne, holding the letters he had found.

"I have proof I know who mandated the thieves, and who is behind these attempts to overthrow the crown!"


He had declared boldly those words in the complete silence that his apparition had thrown on the room, poking at the king's greater interest and enabling intense gossip among the Gaisgains. They seemed panicked, shocked even. Abel bowed down as soon as the group of white men were behind his back.

"Will you allow a masked, unknown individual to challenge our says like so, your majesty?" Said the translator in his approximate Nahara.

"Abel alkhayin is no unknown man to the crown," claimed Al'Hamir. "He may be masked, but this may as well be the only face he's ever worn... What kind of lies do you claim to bear as truth tonight?"

"There is no lie, your majesty," said Abel slowly. "Only proof, only truth, and one only traitor, who may I say, did a better job than me at it."

Al'Bendal Hamir clenched his jaw, his face twisted in rage. He might as well be about to order Abel's decapitation at this point, the man could see it clear as day. He had once again mastered the art of pissing off the crowned prince of Nahamira. However, the king was way more inclined to hear every piece of information about whom could have tried to assassinate his son and his pupil. He raised a hand towards his son, ordering peace, before taking two steps towards Abel and holding out his hand.

"I will look at the documents," announced the king. "No clues shall be ignored."

"But, your majesty," tried the translator, "we have already solved the mystery!"

"Not entirely, it seems. You are not at fault for missing part of the puzzle, you already did a lot to help solve this mystery."

"Father," interrupted Al'Hamir, "may I remind you of what happened last time we trusted this man?"

"Have you ever trusted me?" Rioted Abel. "Al'Bendal Hamir, do not forget how you got me to work under your milice. I can hardly believe we were born on the same year with how child-like you act!"

"How dare.."

"Enough!" Boomed Al'Quawin. "Your life and which of your daughter are at stake, Hamir!"

He took the letters that Abel handed and tuned back to sit on the throne. He read lightly through most of them, looking for the most important and incriminating ones. He the rose his eyes towards Abel, inspecting his face.

"From what I can read, you really looked deep into this affair. May I ask what brought you in front of me tonight?"

"My loyalty to my friends."

"Wasn't aware you had one of those..." Mumbled Al'Hamir.

"Wasn't aware I was talking to you nor asking your mind-slowing opinion, your majesty!" Snarled Abel

"I said enough!" Barked the king. "This is no place and time for such a thing! Do not address each others again before me or else there will be three heads off their respective shoulders tomorrow! Now Abel, do tell what you meant by that."

"Many of my friends were engendered in this madness. When they asked for my advice, I told them I'd rather help than let them die because of what other plot had risen."

The king gave a small nod, signifying that he understood while Al'Hamir was outright boiling in his seat, eyes furious and fist tight in front of his mouth to contain his anger. Abel rose an eyebrow at him and the man snarled in silence and turned his gaze to the walls.

The king shooed the Gaisain ambassador away, promising him a reward one day or another. He now had all the focus of the masked spy, while his son was reviewing the letters. Abel was now short of words, pondering if he should or not reveal what he knew about Malika's upbringing with Al'Hamir in the room, but thankfully the prince was stupid enough.

"Who does this maniac this she is? How dare she pretend such things! She did nothing but condemned her own blood and..."

"Peace, Al'Hamir!" Bellowed the king. "Sarh'Illana does not deserve such uproar. She will be judged and imprisoned in the silence and ignorance as she should."

"Why is it that her head may not fall?" He roared. "And lower your questioning look, alkhayin, because there will be no more of your sniffing around the royal family. Enough of you feeding on the secrets of those who govern you!"

"I am no longer under your governance, Al'Hamir."

"Only because you managed to flee before I could hang your head on my wall..."

His stern and accusing walk towards Abel was stopped short by the hand of the King grabbing firmly the fabric on his son's chest. Abel neither flinched nor moved, seemingly as arrogant as ever in the face of the crown that shone above Al'Hamir's enraged face.

"I saved your life, and this of your daughter, whom might I add, deserve this crown of yours so much more that you do. Tonight you may have lost your life. I paid my debt"

"You tried to kill me not years ago, and I know that you only saved me by procuration. You paid nothing."

"If you still beg for my head, I'll sadly inform you that your perfect panther won't be there to help. Your millice is no more."

"Hamir, this is no fight that you can win by fighting."

Abel's bandaged hands came to cross his arms on his chest, and Hamir knew that even if he was injured, his father was right. He could not fight Abel alkahyn. The king summoned consorts, and let the two men face to face, in the silent promise that they'll still be alive later on. Hamir, having made his choice, grabbed Abel by the arm and took him some steps away from the trones.




"You are aware of most of Malika's story, but there are many details missing."

"I know that you did not father the princess."


"Yeah no shit, you bastard."

"Fuck off, you bitch."

"Silence." He raised a finger and snarled. "I am not finished. Sarh'Illana is no one's mother. She got to the position she is today because she made a bargain. Sarh'Illana had a sister, you see, and that sister had a child. And Illana resented them both, and promised her sister she'd slaughter her child if she survived childbirth."

"I'm starting to see where this is going."

"It gets worse."

"Amallah truly has abandoned this wretched family."

"I hate that you are right. Sarh'Illana and her sister are my cousins. Our mothers were sisters. When Malika was born, she was born under the care of her aunt, my mother, and Illana attempted to force her way into the castle and take Malika into her custody. It had to be her child. If her sister had survived, the child had died, had she died, the child she would take and break."

"So the king had you adopt her, right?"

"Right. Technically, Malika is my cousin."

"Why was Illana allowed in the guard of the castle then? You knew who she was."

"I didn't, idiot, I was fourteen. So were you, you should remember that, you moron."

"I knew who Malika was at the time. And I knew how to get in your stupid palace. So don't dare name me, useless excuse of a monarch."

"Yeah, I heard you were! Anyway, I was saying. She bargained that should she not have the child, she should have reparation for what that child's upbringing brought upon her, whatever that meant. She was a talented fighter, and the rest you know of."

Abel simply shook his head, astounded by the fuckery of all this.

"Is this why she dare believe she has the right of life and death over the crown princess?"

"Alkhayin is right. This child should never have seen the days!"

Sarh'Illana had jumped from behind the curtains, holding the princess by her hair and holding a blade to her throat.

"I know more than you will ever know about her!" She looked mad. "I have commanded all of this, from years ago!"

"This will bring nothing to you, Illana." The king said to her. "I knew you to have more judgment, commandant. Let the princess go."

"You can't order anything from me."

Abel saw her tighten her grip on the guard and jolted forward, blade out to reach the woman before she slit his friend's throat, but Malika was faster. She pulled out the knife and slammed it right back into Sarh'Illana's thigh. Without a care for the blade, she pushed out of her grip and rushed towards the throne. Abel pressed her to fly towards her grandfather and took a defensive stance. Behind him, he could hear a saber being unsheathed and the sound of someone's boots clacking towards his left. As Illana grabbed at her wound and her men, 12 traitors that they were, surrounded her, Al'Hamir appeared to Abel's side.

"Do not believe I forgive anything you have ever done," said Hamir, "but I will fight her with you."

"I fucking hope you will," answered Abel.

On that he slid out his large knife and a smaller one, advancing like a feline toward his enemy. Sliding under their blades, he immediately took out the first man he saw by stabbing his side under the ribs, and using the dying man as a shield against another opponent. He dropped the body only to see the head of the man fall to his feet, slid off by Hamir's weapon. He raised his head, nodded to the man, and saw by the side of his eyes Illana attempting to flee.

Her fleet was cut short by Hamad blocking her way. Panicking, she ripped off the blade in her side and held both knives, trembling. She attempted to pierce towards his abdomen, but he lowered his stance and grabbed her wrist, and pushed her arm away without letting go. She then tried to attack again with Abel's knife, still covered in blood, but once again Hamad grabbed her wrist by the top. She snarled, and Hamad laughed.

"Let go, you dog," she spat.

"Not a word you mutt, you're the disgrace of your city and family."

"You're an idiot and so is your friend. You both can't see past this wretched family, and we can only hope you stay as blind as this."

"As you wish. You lost anyway."

"Me, yes."

Hamad furrowed his brows, and as she tried to pull away, he kicked the wound on her leg and pressed down with his heel. He twisted her arms and brought her to the ground to hold her down.

As a shadow raised itself above Hamad, Abel jumped on the back of the man raising his weapon to strike his friend. Hamad only turned around to have blood spat on him and saw his friend wiping off the liquid on the body he had just massacred, slicing his throat with both blades.

"Bit of an overachiever are you?"

"Shut it, at least I get it done."

"Help me tie her up, or are you not done?"

"We are done. The palace guard didn't get any better."

Abel helped Hamad to secure the woman, and then helped him up. Al'Hamir was marching towards them and gestured for them to move out of his way, and only Hamad moved away. While there was enough space to get around Abel, the prince slammed right into him and physically pushed him out the way with both hands. Had the man not been grabbing a traitor by the neck, he'd kicked his ass so brutally he'd bruised his own foot. He quickly lowered his mask and dropped some drool on the back of the man, who did not even feel it with being so focused.

Hamad snickered, calsping Abel's back as he adjusted his face covering, before following the prince dragging Illana away, looking at the spat leaving a darker stain on the man's back. As childish as they were, that was the best they could give out. Looking above Al'Hamir's shoulder, Abel gave a wink to the princess, assuring her that this would be okay.




In the end, Abel had talked a lot with the king himself. Al'Bendal Quawin had revoked his death sentence, only condemning him to exile which clearly pleased Abel more than anything. The man had bid his goodbyes to the princess, who seemed to have grown more than she should in those few days. Abel had given his farewell to Hamad while he was getting ready to cross the Naem sea to rejoin his tribe.

"Once I will be back we'll move South slightly," he informed, "we need more resources. Once we have made our bargains in the Deltas, we'll ride up to Hakim."

"I'll keep that in mind, my friend."

"While I'm in my desert, I'll think about your new life. You still haven't told me everything."

"I'm hoping I'll come back to tell you soon enough."

They clasped arms and made way, Abel travelling back through the Madina Almina and her beauty, and stepped again above sea. As his home sand disappeared slowly in the horizon, Abel felt a slight pinch as always, everytime he left. He resented that country, he hated it as much as one can for all the wrong and all the pain it has caused him, and yet it used to be his only home. It felt like a twisted need to forever come back to Nahamira, even though the thought of it rendered him sick.