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Return to Dirkhan in the Desert
Glen Ten-Eyck copyright 2012
cover art by myhorrorpony
First written 1991
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The midday sun hammered on the anvil of Derkhan-in-the- Desert in the kingdom of Alfar. The Sign of the Flaming Goose, near the Rising Sun Gate, had few patrons. There were only six newly arrived travelers, gathered about one of the scarred tables.
“I tell you, I was worried,” said Uman.
“If you had doubts about the plan, this is the first that I have heard of it,” replied Sakar to his second in command.
“Oh, I had no doubts about the plan. My doubts were over whether we would get away from those guards,” returned Umman.
“I began to fret a bit when they pursued us across the border into Alfar,” put in Iroc, in his tan burnoose. “When we came into sight of Derkhan’s walls I wondered if those Royal Kelin Guards were ever going to quit.”
“All that fuss over a mere trifle. All that we did was take a few dishes and such.” said Arton ironically.
“Maybe it was due to the dishes and such being solid gold,” Uman returned. “Or perhaps it was the fact that King Imbon was having a banquet off them at the time.”
Sakar stood up and gazed thoughtfully at the mud plastered walls of the taproom. “Whatever we do, we cannot sell King Imbon’s banquet service until we melt it down to safely anonymous ingots. I have had enough wine for now, so I will ask about for discreet help.”