Fifteen days after departing from the Isle of Whisper, the ship carrying Ronan and his companions arrived at the western port city of Seacliff. As they disembarked, Malik noticed Yalis' absence.
"Where's our guide?" he asked, his voice laced with annoyance.
"He's still on the ship," Damia replied.
"Zog, fetch him," Malik ordered.
Zog returned with a reluctant Yalis, his expression troubled. "What happened?" Malik demanded.
"Let's get away from here first," Zog said, his voice tense.
They hurried away from the port, leaving behind confused stares from the sailors. "Now tell me," Malik insisted.
"Ask him," Zog growled, gesturing towards Yalis.
"I'm asking you!"
"He pierced a hole in the ship's hull!" Zog revealed, as he barely contained his anger.
"Why would you do that?" Adok exclaimed, echoing the group's astonishment.
"To make it unusable for a while," Yalis replied simply.
Damia erupted in fury. "Is that how you repay kindness? They were good people! They treated you with respect!"
Yalis remained unfazed, his gaze shifting to Ronan, who recalled their agreement not to question his actions. He intervened, his voice firm. "Damia, leave him be. We made a promise."
Damia fell silent, her anger simmering beneath the surface. Yalis, with a dismissive shrug, led them towards the city. "We need supplies. The journey to the Firefield is a month away."
Despite their growing resentment towards Yalis, the group followed his instructions. They spent a day in Seacliff gathering provisions, eager to reach their destination and confront Iskander.
A month later, they arrived at the last outpost before the vast expanse of the Sea of White Dust, the Firefield. They had yet to catch up to their targets, and the realization that they would have to cross the deadly desert filled them with apprehension.
"We need camels," Yalis declared. "Horses won't survive out there. Sell them and get at least fifteen camels. And water, lots of water, and food."
Malik barked orders, and they set about acquiring the necessary supplies. Yalis, with his extensive knowledge of the desert, guided them in their preparations. He remained behind with Adok, while the others sought respite at a nearby inn.
Hours later, Adok and Yalis returned, Adok's face flushed with anger. Ronan and Malik exchanged a knowing glance.
"Did he do something again?" Malik asked.
"He did!" Adok spat, glaring at Yalis. "And this time it's worse!"
"What happened?" Ronan inquired, his stomach sinking with a sense of foreboding.
Adok lowered his voice. "He cut off a boy's arm."
Rage surged through the group. Malik's eyes narrowed, his hand twitching towards his sword. "That's not what we agreed upon, old man!"
"You gave me your word, remember?" Yalis said calmly, meeting Malik's gaze without flinching.
"We did," Ronan admitted, his voice strained. "But if I had known you were capable of such a thing, I wouldn't have brought you along."
"Believe me, your word is the only thing keeping you alive," Adok added, his voice laced with barely suppressed fury.
Yalis shrugged and headed upstairs. "I'm tired. I need to rest. The journey will be long."
"Damn fool," Damia muttered. "I'd love to see him bleed."
"How did it happen?" Malik asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Adok recounted the incident, explaining how Yalis had approached a group of children playing in an alley and, without warning, severed a young boy's arm. He had then treated the wound and left before the townspeople arrived.
"You left him injured and alone?" Ronan roared.
"I'm an assassin, not a monster," Adok retorted. "The boy was screaming, and people were coming. I made sure he was alive and left. They'll take care of him. But he lost his damn arm!"
"Did anyone see you?" Malik asked, his mind already calculating the risks.
"No, just the kids."
"Good. We leave now, while the commotion lasts."
"We have to," Ronan agreed, guilt gnawing at his conscience. "What happened is my fault."
"You're right!" Damia spat. "I don't trust that old man. He'll lead us to our doom."
"I disagree," Ronan countered. "He hasn't broken his word. He's a good guide. We haven't encountered any trouble on our journey, and his knowledge of the Ashen Wastes is invaluable."
"What if he betrays us?" Damia persisted.
"Then I'll kill him myself," Malik said coldly, taking a long drink of his ale.
They gathered their belongings and set off, their anger towards Yalis a palpable tension that hung over the group. A week later, they reached the edge of the Firefield, a desolate expanse of white dunes that stretched as far as the eye could see.
"We're here," Yalis announced, turning to Ronan.
"Lead the way, old man," Ronan replied, his gaze hard and unforgiving.
Yalis paused, his expression serious. "Do not question my lead, or none of you will survive this."
"We will," Malik said curtly, his trust in the old man shattered.
Yalis outlined the dangers that awaited them: scorching heat, blinding sandstorms, venomous creatures, and the ever-present threat of dehydration. He stressed the importance of following his instructions and staying close, warning them that to stray from his path meant certain death.
"Just lead the way," Ronan said impatiently, his mind focused on catching up to Iskander and enacting his revenge.
They ventured into the heart of the desert, the relentless sun beating down upon them as they navigated the treacherous dunes. The harsh conditions took their toll, their camels weakening under the strain. Five of the animals perished, their carcasses left to bake under the unforgiving sun.
Weeks turned into months, and the group's resolve began to crumble. Damia, exhausted and parched, collapsed to her knees, her voice raw with despair. "Damn you, old man! You promised a safe passage, but all I see is death!"
"This is the safest way," Yalis insisted.
"I've heard stories about this place," Zog said, his voice hoarse, "but they don't do it justice."
"I'm exhausted," Damia cried. "We're going to die!"
Malik, sensing the group's dwindling morale, made a decision. "We camp here," he announced. "We'll slaughter one of the camels, eat, and rest. We march again tomorrow."
They set up camp, the aroma of roasting camel meat filling the air. Ronan, watching his companions laugh and joke around the fire, knew they would be all right. But he couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at him. The memories of his former companions and the happy times they had shared only intensified his guilt and regret.
He wandered away from the group, seeking solitude amidst the vast desert landscape. Malik watched him go, understanding his need for space. Ronan sat on a dune, gazing at the starlit sky, his thoughts a jumbled mess of emotions.
Yalis followed him, his footsteps silent on the sand. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked, his voice soft.
"If you're here to chat, old man, I'm not in the mood," Ronan replied curtly.
"I'm here to talk, not chat," Yalis countered, standing a few paces behind him.
"Go away."
"Is it because of what I did? Is that why you won't talk to me?"
"What you did was unforgivable. If not for my word, you'd be dead." Ronan's voice was filled with bitterness.
"If I feared death, I wouldn't have done those things," Yalis said, approaching and sitting beside him. "Do you want to know why I did them?"
Ronan hesitated, torn between his anger and his curiosity. He could not ask, but if Yalis offered the information freely...
"I can't ask you that," Ronan finally said. "I gave you my word."
"And I appreciate you honoring it," Yalis replied. "That's why I'll tell you, and only you, why I did what I did. If you want to hear it, of course."
Ronan nodded, his curiosity outweighing his anger.
"I did it to help," Yalis began.
"Help who?" Ronan scoffed. "You sabotaged a ship and maimed a child!"
Yalis chuckled, his green eyes twinkling in the starlight. "I did it for their own good."
"I don't understand."
"Not everything that seems true is true, and not everything that seems right is right," Yalis explained. "Sometimes, seemingly evil deeds lead to good, and seemingly good deeds lead to evil. Your eyes cannot perceive the truth, but you can train your mind to do so. Keep an open mind, and remember, doubt is an ally to those who seek the truth."
Ronan pondered his words, surprised by the old man's wisdom. "I think I owe you an apology," he admitted.
"No need," Yalis waved his hand dismissively. "But you can help me understand something that's been bothering me since I saw that silver-haired man at the Stone Rings, the one you seem to be pursuing."
"You mean Iskander?" Ronan asked.
"Is that what he calls himself? I haven't heard that name spoken in this world. It seems I was right."
Ronan was certain now. This old man was like Iskander. "Old man, you just confirmed my suspicions. You're not just some ordinary guide, are you?"
Yalis chuckled. "I didn't come here to discuss my past. But since you seem so curious, I'll make a deal. I tell you my secrets, and you tell me what I want to know."
"Enlighten me," Ronan said, intrigued despite himself.
"For over fifty years, I've been visiting this desert," Yalis began, his voice filled with a wistful longing. "I've been to the Obsidian Spire countless times, drawn to its mysteries. I've sought answers to the what, the who, the why, the how, and the when. I've found hints of the what, but the rest eludes me. Then, when I saw that man, I discovered the who. And now, I want to know the rest. Answer my questions, and perhaps I'll answer yours."