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The next morning, just as the sun rose, Leon received a visitor. It was Hans, the senior clerk of the Nuwas Guild branch.
He had seemingly stayed up all night after the duel between Zahar and Hati, judging by the shadows hanging beneath his eyes, sinking as far as his cheekbones. Looking utterly drained, he handed Leon a bundle of papers clutched in both hands.
“These are the documents you requested, Mr. Leon. I’ve compiled as much detail as possible on the sites of conflict between the two sides, the rights each side is contesting, and the profiles of those in charge.”
“Ah! You’ve worked so hard,” Leon praised, but Hans wasn’t finished.
“I also reviewed two months of trade records and noted the locations of caravans and tribes that have gone silent. The number was far greater than expected… A sign, I fear, of how serious this matter could become.”
Gone was the lazy clerk they had met before; Hans’s voice was grave.
“The movements of the warriors are also unusual. The Bedouin’s regular patrols haven’t changed in thirty years, yet recently their frequency, numbers, and quality have all increased.”
Leon knew their true quarry was the “unknown monster,” but to anyone else, it looked unmistakably like reconnaissance in preparation for war. Even Rahmu, the Bedouin chieftain’s eighteenth son, was leading patrols—a...
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