Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One by Travis I. Sivart Read Free Book Online Page B

them and set up a camp, digging canvas tarps out of the sand to erect shelters from the coming sun. It was early fall, but the temperatures during the day could still be dangerous.
    He had trained his people well, and they would do what was needed. He had a larger duty now. He looked at the rag tag bunch that had collected here. He saw more people working their way to the oasis, and looked past them to the base of his fallen empire again.
     
     
     
    They trekked through the sand as the early evening sun beat down. They didn’t talk so they could conserve their energy for the task on hand. Rogen scanned the horizon and the sands in front of them for any danger. They were rare in the desert, but could be lethal if you did run across one. The Rokairn was extra cautious because of the threat that they had faced not a day ago. He had extra incentive to be alert. Cite trudged along, his shoulders slumped. Calleus, Taktak, and Sybia trailed behind the other two.
    Rogen and Cite were both used to being apart from others keeping their own counsel, and the Rokairn did so now. Rogen knew the wisdom of keeping councilors to make sure he did not overlook anything, and as a check and balance system. In his experience no one man was infallible, including himself. He would not endanger a whole society based on the arrogance that he was incapable of making a mistake. It also made others feel more comfortable when one man didn’t have all the control. He went over his plan again in his head, looking for things he may have missed and trying to consider every possibility. He thought about his people and how best to begin the rebuilding. He may have to scout out a new location if the last one had been compromised. It wouldn’t be the first time. He had buried two other sand castles, as he liked to call them. Previous men that had carried his name had done the same. Nothing was permanent in the desert, or in life for that matter.
    He thought about what to do with Cite. The ancient parchment that Transvartius had given him was not clear on what to do. It just said that a man would arrive one day, but had no further instructions. Rogen was not sure if he should give the kid money and send him on his way, take him under wing and train him, or go somewhere with him. Rogen knew he would figure it out, at least enough to move in the direction he needed to go. But that may take some time, and time was something he did not have a lot of. He knew he would help the boy as much as he could until he figured out what to do, and he would start by tutoring him on the ways of the world, people, and weapons. Cite obviously held a position of respect and power in his village, something rare for someone so young, but he was amazingly naïve about the ways of the people. That would get him taken advantage of, or worse, in the real world. Looking back, he was proud to see the lad marching along without complaint though it was obvious that the journey was taking its toll on the boy.
    Cite felt each jagged intake of hot desert air. His wound had become a regular dull throb, keeping pace with his heartbeat, footsteps, and breathing.  Grit had found its way into every sweaty crevasse of his body, including rubbing on his raw injury. His shirt made it feel like he had sand paper on the outside his chest, to accompany the stabbing pain on the inside. He squinted into the setting sun over the mountains to the west, and rubbed his nose, knocking sand from it. The only sound was the breathing of his friends and the crunch of their feet on the sand.
    Or were they his captors? He was no longer sure. They didn’t treat him like a slave, but he also didn’t think they would let him wander off on his own. Not that he wanted to, he knew going off alone would be suicide. He had no idea what Rogen had meant about getting him to a safe place. Safe for whom, and from what? Was he in any less danger from an infamous slaver then he was from hordes of mindless insects? He felt