Sir Geoffrey Arbuthnott gazed around at the relentlessly barren landscape and sighed. “You know, Lucas, it’s times like these that make me truly wish to have been born my parents’ third son. The thought of living in a quiet monastery brewing ale has great appeal.”

His right-hand man snorted. “No, you don’t. Beer-making is only part of your brother’s life, and I can’t imagine you kneeling on a stone floor in endless prayer. And before you run through your other brotherly options, you would hate farming, politicking and commerce just as much. Being a soldier suits you best, old friend.”

Geoffrey watched the king’s cartographer, Professor Johns, jump off his wagon seat with surprising alacrity for a man of his age and physique. And he did so while holding a pad of paper and pencil, no less. The man squinted into the distance before sketching furiously.

Geoff suppressed another sigh. “Except this isn’t soldiering.”

“It could be. Not that it looks like anyone lives in this arid place. I mean, where would they find enough water to drink and to grow food?”

The question highlighted their own predicament. Since entering this desert area far to the west of Moorcondia, he’d implemented strict rationing of their supplies. There was a real possibility that they’d have to turn back soon if they didn’t find natural springs to replenish their canteens and flora and fauna to cull for more food. If that happened, it would mean failing, and he’d never done that in his life. Boring this mission may be, but he was determined to make it a success.

“We’ve seen enough rodents scurrying about, and we’ll eat those if nothing else presents itself. The gods know we’ve dined on worse during our campaigns. There must be sources of water. It’s a matter of finding them, that’s all.” He scanned the skies, and his heart ticked up a beat at the sight of some birds circling in the distance. There.” He pointed. “We go in that direction.”

Lucas squinted up. “Hmm. Could be promising.” He issued a sharp whistle to gain the attention of the other soldiers and waved in the direction they would head.

Once the cartographer had returned to his seat on the wagon, they resumed their journey. They’d traded their warhorses for stout working ones. The beasts weren’t made for speed, but they were perfect for plodding along all day. And they’d brought replacements that carried provisions. If worse came to worst, they could always use them as sources of food, although he hated the idea. Previous scouts had warned them of this desert, so they had prepared as best they could. The problem was no one knew how large this area of the world was—and what, if anything other than perhaps ocean, lay on the other side. It was possible it was so vast they’d have to turn around and try again with even more supplies. The idea was depressing. He was a soldier, not an explorer, but with the Marshers subdued and the danger of the Swarm neutralized, his skills were in low demand. A good thing for Moorcondia, but bad thing for someone who’d spent his entire manhood training and fighting.

Geoff kept his gaze on the large birds flying in tight circles up ahead. They were scavengers, he was sure of it, although nothing he’d seen before. The cartographer was a good hand at drawing, as his profession demanded, and the man was memorializing everything he saw. Someone, someday, back in Moorcondia, would give names to every bit of scrub and creature they came across. That part was not his job. He and his men were there to protect Professor Johns. So far, it had been an easy task. The man was eccentric, to be sure, but he was also affable—and seemingly fearless. A recently widowed man, he’d professed a keen desire to make a mark for the remainder of his life, regardless of the risk. One couldn’t help but admire the man.

It was hard to judge distance in this environment. What had looked far away proved to be closer. They hadn’t gone far before Geoff was delighted to spy some greenery—or at least plants that were less brown than what they’d seen so far. It had to mean a source of water. There was a palpable sense of excitement in his men, although they were too well trained to prod their horses to a greater speed. Conservation of energy was critical, and where there was water, there could be dangerous animals—the human kind, most of all. When they were close enough to make out more detail, Geoff held up his hand to stop the procession.

He signaled two men to go with him, while giving Lucas the order to stay put with the professor and the others. Then he proceeded at the same cautious speed, keeping his eyes fixed on his destination. He took in each detail as they came into focus. It was indeed a large oasis with a wide shimmering pool of water, tall thin trees with leafy greens at the top and…a horse. He stopped and blinked against the glare of the sun to be sure he was seeing correctly. And yes, it was a short, stout dappled horse with only a blanket thrown over its back. It stood to one side of the spot, grazing on some kind of low-lying shrubbery. It didn’t appear to be injured or sick, so the scavengers hadn’t been drawn by this animal. Not far from it, there was a dark blob seeming to float within the sand just beyond the water. A few steps later, he realized it wasn’t bits of carrion as he’d expected, but a head—a human one.

Now he kicked his mount into a fast trot, still scanning the horizon for danger. He slowed again once he’d reached the oasis, skirting the water as he headed for whoever was trapped in the sand. Relief washed over him when the head of hair and the arms attached to the same body moved. Whoever this was, they were alive. As he rounded to the front of the person, his breath caught at the sight of who was in trouble. Geoff hadn’t had any discernible expectations of who he’d find, but this vision caught him by surprise, nevertheless. It was a young man, hardly out of boyhood, with coppery skin and long, straight hair, black as night and plaited on both sides. He looked up at him with wide dark-brown eyes.

Reining his horse to a stop, Geoff tried for a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of there.” When the boy didn’t respond, he wondered if he’d understood. In his experience, Moorcondians spoke a universal language. Historians believed that all people had sprung from the same place and had spread out as the population grew. Perhaps here, in this uncharted part of the world, a different tongue had developed. No matter… Actions always spoke more eloquently of one’s intent. Dismounting, he uncoiled the length of rope tied to his saddle and unfurled it.

“Take hold of this, and I’ll pull you out.” So saying, he tossed the end toward the boy, careful not to smack him in the face, yet making sure it got within grabbing distance.

The boy didn’t take hold of the rope immediately. He kept his gaze on Geoff for a few seconds before slowly taking the end, wrapping it around one small hand and grabbing it with the other. His exhaustion was obvious, leading Geoff to wonder how long he’d been stuck. For sure, the scavengers had sensed an imminent meal. As soon as he was certain the boy had a good grip, Geoff slowly pulled. There was more resistance than he’d expected. They’d run into this sucking sand early in their journey. It was a danger in that it trapped one but was easily dealt with if one had a companion and something to use as leverage to drag the victim out. This particular patch appeared small but held on to the boy with greater tenacity. And with the oblivious horse having neither opposable thumbs nor anything to toss at its master even if it did, this young man had been at great risk.

Why is he alone?

Geoff trusted that his men would be scouting the area for others. Surely there was some kind of civilization nearby and someone would miss this boy eventually. He could only hope that they were inclined to be friendly—or at least grateful for his help in this matter if they came upon them now. None of that was more than a fleeting thought, however. His concentration remained on the boy’s gaze, trying to be reassuring with his expression alone, while he carefully pulled him out of the sand. He tried not to pay too much attention to the fact that the boy was exquisite, with slashing cheekbones, long lashes and plump lips. He ignored as well the bare chest, draped by a beaded vest, and the fact that once the boy was fully out of the sand, he wore only a short, tan leather kilt that left his slender legs exposed. His feet were bare.

When the boy was within reach, he held out a hand. With only a brief hesitation, the boy clasped it and let Geoff tug him to a stand on firmer ground. Fine bits of wet sand clung to his otherwise-smooth skin. Geoff had to resist the temptation to wipe it off. His palms fairly itched with the desire to touch. His dick, which had been lethargic during the trip, found new energy. He’d never wanted anyone more in his life than he did this stranger, not that his interest was going anywhere… The last thing the boy needed was to think his savior was only after sex as the price for help.

It didn’t matter anyway what Geoff wanted. The boy stood with glazed eyes, panting and swaying. Then he keeled over, right into Geoff’s waiting arms.

* * * *

Mica woke to a cool night breeze. Not that he was cold, lying as he was under a light blanket of unfamiliar weave. With a sudden clarity, he remembered what had happened—his stupidly missing the quicksand before he’d sunk too far to escape on his own. He’d been so focused on a flock of birds that he’d forgotten to look where he was going. In one unguarded moment, he’d proven his mother right that he spent too much time with his head in the clouds instead of focusing on where he was headed. The hot sun had taunted him with death, and he’d begun to truly fear he would die before anyone realized he was missing, until a stranger had come to his rescue—a fierce-looking warrior of an unknown people. In the brief moment before he’d fainted, Mica’d had a chance to appreciate the raw, masculine power in front of him.

He could hear the man now, along with others, their deep voices murmuring around him. He kept his eyes closed, afraid of what new predicament he’d found himself in and worried that his people would walk into danger while out looking for him. Then footsteps approached and his heartbeat sped up. He could feel the presence of something big and warm and smelling of leather and horse.

“You’re awake, I believe.”

Mica forced himself to open his eyes and face whoever this man was. He blinked in surprise more than in an effort to clear his vision. The impact of seeing him again was no less strong this second time around. It was the green eyes he noticed first, his fear replaced by surprise and curiosity. He’d never met anyone with this man’s coloring before. His square face was golden and handsome. His hair was light and cropped very close to his head. And he was dressed far too much for the desert, although given the paleness of his skin, that was probably a good barrier from the sun. He was clearly a warrior of his people, yet his expression was kind.

“Have some water,” the man said before Mica could form any words.

His thirst was great, as he would have expected, given how long the sun had beaten down on him. When he tried to sit up, however, weakness had him flopping back down. Except the man shot out an arm to cradle Mica’s shoulders. He shuddered at the touch, then melted into it, grateful for the strength. The man held a water bag to his mouth, and he drank greedily until he felt slaked. The man seemed to understand that he needed to lie down again, gently lowering him back onto the thin pallet where he lay.

“I thank you,” he managed to say, his raspy voice reminding him he’d been trapped in the quicksand for more than a day.

The stranger grinned. “I’m glad to see you awake, finally. This is the first time since you fainted that you’ve managed to drink voluntarily. We’ve had to pour the water into you before.”

Mica’s tired brain had trouble keeping up with the man’s strange cadence and syntax, but the words made sense, and he caught up pretty quickly. “It was for how long, my fainting?”

The man scrunched up his face, obviously also getting used to Mica’s form of speech. “One night. It’s nearly dawn now.”

The answer relieved him. It hadn’t been more than three days since he’d left home. Some more water, food and rest, and he’d be ready to ride back on his own. “Trouble you for food, may I?”

“Of course.” The man gestured to someone else. A man not much older than Mica came trotting up. “Cecil, your patient is awake and asking for food. What do you think would settle best on his stomach?”

The man frowned. “Some broth with a bit of hard tack soaked in it. If he handles that well, we can move on to dried meat.”

“Excellent. Go fetch it, please.” The older stranger turned his attention back to Mica. Something about his gaze was intimidating—in a good way. “Cecil may be young but he’s a well-trained medic.” He paused. “I suppose you are curious as to who we are.”

Mica nodded, more keen to learn about these strangers now that death was no longer a concern.

The man put his hand on his own chest. “I am Sir Geoffrey Arbuthnott of Moorcondia. Geoff, if you like.”

That was a very long name, impressively so. This man was someone of importance, he was sure. Certainly he commanded those around him. Mica gestured toward himself. “Mica, I am.” There was nothing more to give about himself, other than a description of the People and where he came from—and that would give away their location. He couldn’t take that chance. This man might seem kind now, but he could be here intent on raiding.

The stranger—Geoff—inclined his head. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mica, and let me assure you we mean you no harm. We are explorers for our king and intend merely to travel across this desert to see what is here and beyond. Our journey is about curiosity, not warfare.”

Mica let all those words swirl around in his head before replying. “A chief, you have?”

“Yes, although we call him a king.”

“The strongest, he is?” It was hard to believe that Geoff wasn’t the chief of his people. Mica had never seen a man so big.

Geoff chuckled. “Not exactly. But he does rule us, and he wants to know what this part of the world looks like. I and these others are going to spend a long time traveling. We mean no harm to anyone.”

Perhaps it was foolish to take those words at face value. Somehow Mica did. “Believe you, I do.”

There was no chance for further talk as Cecil returned with a small wooden bowl. “Ah, many thanks. I’ll see to our guest.” Geoff took the bowl and turned to Mica. “Do you need help sitting up?”

Mica thought he could manage on his own yet nodded instead. “Please.”

Once again, his rescuer wrapped that big, strong arm around his shoulders and lifted him to a sitting position. Mica reveled in the feel of it. No man, other than his father, had ever touched him so, and no one had ever made him feel this funny warmth deep in his belly. His cock tingled with warning. He pressed one hand down on his lap to keep it under control while he tried to take the bowl with the other. Geoff kept hold of it, though, guiding it to his lips. It was caretaking in a way that was both reminiscent of his mother’s coddling when he’d been young and also completely different. Perverse as it might be, he was glad to have landed in trouble. If he hadn’t, this man might have passed by without a glimpse.

Not that his attraction was going to amount to anything. As he sipped at his broth, he focused on every detail of the experience—the feel of Geoff’s strength, the scent of him, the strange sound of his voice and the excitement it incited in his blood. He would make the most of his time with these strangers, and when he returned home, he would keep the knowledge to himself. Unless Geoff was lying about his intent, Mica dared not tell his chief about their lands being trespassed upon. The People had fought hard to claim their place in the world, and warring tribes were always a worry. He knew the chief wouldn’t allow Geoff and his men to simply go on their way. The world was a harsh place, and only the strong and ruthless survived.

When he’d had his fill, he lay back down, comfortable but not sleepy. “Of your tribe, tell me you will?”

Geoff sat cross-legged beside him. “Certainly. Will you also tell me about yours?”

Mica lowered his eyes, disappointed. “Cannot.”

There were a few moments of silence. “Ah well, fair enough. I don’t want you to get in trouble or worry about my intent. I am happy to tell you about my country, though.”

It was like being a child again, lying on his pallet, listening to a fun tale. Geoff talked about great stone dwellings that stood on their own, surrounded by lush trees and shrubbery with many flowers. People rode horses but also in large carts, and they clothed themselves in many layers. It was cold in his country during one season with something called ‘snow’ that seemed too fantastical to be real. Geoff explained more about what they were doing and the role of the older man who was more the size of Mica’s people with a pot belly and hair only on the sides of his head. This man was making drawings of everything he saw to take back one day to show their king. It was an amazing story and one that lulled him back to sleep before he was ready.

Still, he wasn’t afraid. Against all reason, he was sure he was safe with Sir Geoffrey Arbuthnott—a strange man with a long name and the kindness to save the life of someone and ask nothing in return.