The Ambush
Suddenly, a shadow fell across Altan's path—a shape darting between the jagged canyon walls. His posture stiffened. There was always something watching in Balkaresh, but this shadow was too large, too deliberate. His hand drifted to the ornamental dagger strapped to his hip, the pommel engraved with the sigil of the long-lost House Dren—a coiled serpent clutching a twin-sun medallion. Before he could draw it, a sharp whistle split the air.
A swarm of nomadic raiders erupted from concealed crevices along the cliffs, their tattered cloaks billowing like stormclouds. Each wore a patchwork of scavenged armor, dyed crimson and black to match the canyon’s jagged stones. Their leader, a gaunt figure with a bone mask obscuring his face, raised an ancient energy staff that crackled to life with refracted light. Behind him, a chorus of cocked crossbows and daggers gleamed with menace.
"Your cargo," the gaunt man demanded, his voice low and serpentine. "Or your life."
Altan dismounted in a slow, deliberate motion. Standing tall, he peeled his hat back, revealing a smirk that didn’t reach his hardened eyes. "I think you'll find," he said, unhooking a curved saber from his belt, "that taking either won't be as simple as you hope."
The Duel and the Deception
Two raiders lunged forward, daggers flashing. In one fluid motion, Altan parried the first blade with his saber and disarmed the other with a swift kick to the wrist. A third came at him with a spiked club, but the former merchant spun low, sweeping his leg and sending the attacker to the ground. Sand kicked up around them as chaos erupted. The sand-bison bellowed and stomped, scattering some of the less-experienced bandits, while Altan moved like a dancer in the fray—not with finesse, but with grim efficiency.
Finally, he stood face to face with the gaunt leader. The bone-masked figure pointed the energy staff at him, a sphere of crackling light forming at its tip. "You’re talented, but this is your end," the leader rasped.
"Not quite," Altan replied, and with a sudden, deliberate movement, he kicked the gilded chest off the sand-bison’s back. It shattered against the ground, spilling its glowing contents—a pulverized mixture of rare minerals so phosphorescent that even the harsh suns seemed dimmed.
The raiders hesitated, mesmerized by the glowing dust as it spread into the air. Altan took that brief moment to thrust the saber upward, kicking the energy staff from the leader’s grip. The man stumbled backward, but before Altan could finish him, another whistle echoed through the canyon. The remaining raiders dragged their wounded leader away, disappearing into the crags while the glowing dust settled over the dunes like a fleeting mirage.
The Gilded Rune
Breathing heavily, Altan sheathed his saber and stared at the remains of the chest. He crouched to retrieve the largest intact shard of the runic gilding, holding it up to the sunlight. The encoded markings, centuries old, seemed to shimmer with eerie purpose. It wasn’t gold, not really—it was a fragment of an ancient Balkaresh vault key, and Altan knew its importance stretched far beyond petty thievery.
He muttered to himself, "So they know."
Mounting the sand-bison once more, Altan turned his gaze toward the western horizon. Somewhere beyond the dunes, the buried ruins of Balkaresh whispered their secrets, promising power and peril in equal measure. For Altan, the journey was no longer about survival—it was redemption. And in Balkaresh, redemption often required blood.
Genre
Fantasy/Adventure
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Under Fire: The Hidden Dangers of War Reporting
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