As the expedition delved deeper into the eastern lands, the Lord's luck and insight were once again confirmed. The Leib Hussars, conducting reconnaissance, reported the first serious obstacle in their path—a fortress situated on high ground, offering an excellent view of the surrounding lands. However, this was not an imperial or sultanate fortress, but a marauder's den. This fortress, likely having previously belonged to some minor feudal lord or served as an outpost of the Sultanate, was now occupied and repurposed to suit the needs of a numerous and well-organized gang. Its walls, though damaged by time and possibly recent battles, looked strong enough to withstand an attack from a common merchant caravan. Smoke over the towers indicated a constant presence, and through binoculars, figures could be seen patrolling the crenelated walls.
This marauder's den presented a dual problem. Firstly, the fortress controlled a key pass or stretch of road that, according to the map, lay on the expedition's path to the treasure. Attempting to bypass it would be too long and risky, given the need to maintain the cover story of a "reconnaissance" mission. Secondly, although not a regular army, a large band of marauders holed up in the fortress could create serious problems for the expedition. Their audacity and desperation could lead to unexpected attacks or prolonged skirmishes that would attract unwanted attention.
Hassan, upon learning of the fortress, turned pale and began to nervously tug at his beard, anticipating the worst. Green was already calculating options for an assault or a bypass, while Father Tuck silently gazed at the fortress, as if assessing its moral and spiritual status. For the Lord, however, this was not just an obstacle, but an opportunity. An opportunity to demonstrate the strength of his "Death Squad," to bolster his reputation, and perhaps, to find something valuable inside.
The detachment made camp a few miles from the marauder's lair, taking cover in a small hollow to avoid drawing attention. The air was heavy with anticipation of the coming clash. In the command tent, by the light of a dim lantern, the Lord gathered his closest advisors—Green, Father Tuck, and, of course, Hassan, who, despite his nervous twitching, was compelled to be present.
Green, as always, began with a pragmatic analysis of the situation. He unfolded a map of the area, pointing out positions and possible approaches. "My lord, the fortress is strong for a band of marauders, but not for our 'Death Squad'," he began. "We can take it by storm. Our grenadiers can create breaches in the walls, and the 'Black Company' and the 'Legion of the Dead,' if we summon them, will easily break their resistance. However, this will take time, lead to losses, and most importantly, attract attention. Too much noise for a 'reconnaissance' mission." He proposed the option of a swift, decisive assault, leveraging their superiority in tactics and weaponry.
Father Tuck, with his insight and penchant for manipulation, suggested a different approach. "My lord, an open assault may be effective, but what if we use their own darkness against them? These marauders are undoubtedly superstitious. We can spread rumors that this fortress is cursed, that it is haunted by the spirits of those they have killed, or that it is under the gaze of the Necromancer Lord himself. We can use psychological pressure, staging 'ghostly' apparitions at night, demoralizing them and forcing them to flee without a fight. This will save our forces and resources and strengthen the myths about you."
Then it was Hassan's turn. He coughed nervously, fidgeting with the hem of his tattered clothes, but when the talk turned to trade, a familiar glint appeared in his eyes. "Oh... my lord, an assault? That's dangerous! And ghosts? They... they might be real!" He shuddered again. "But... but these robbers, they must have plundered something, right? They trade, don't they? I could... I could try to bribe them! Or negotiate passage for a 'symbolic' fee. I have a talent for negotiation, I can bargain a soul from the devil! We could offer them a part of their own loot or even... our bonds! They don't know their true value!" He proposed the option of negotiation and bribery, relying on his cunning and unpredictable luck.
The Lord listened to his advisors, considering the proposed options. An assault, though effective, carried unnecessary risks and could attract attention. Psychological warfare was certainly powerful, but it required time. And time was a resource the Lord had little of when it came to treasure. His gaze fell on the nervously shifting Hassan, and the Lord realized that his "walking lottery ticket" could yield the quickest and least costly result.
"We will follow Hassan's path," the Lord declared, and a mixture of panic and pride flickered across the merchant's face. "Negotiation and bribery." 38
The Lord turned to Hassan. "Hassan, this is your task. You will go to them. Offer precious stones in exchange for the expedition's passage. Not gold—gold is too valuable and easily traced. Stones. Start with a moderate amount, but be prepared to raise it if necessary. And remember—the main thing is that we pass without a fight and without unnecessary noise."
Fear flickered in Hassan's eyes, but it was then replaced by the familiar glint of excitement. The opportunity to "bargain a soul from the devil" was too strong a temptation for him. Green was already giving instructions to the "Black Company" to prepare for a covert escort for Hassan and for a possible rapid response if the negotiations went awry. Father Tuck, smirking, blessed Hassan for a "peaceful" resolution to the conflict.
Hassan, despite his trembling knees, donned his best, though shabby, traveling attire and, taking with him a small but heavy pouch of gemstones selected by the Lord, set off towards the fortress under the cover of the "Black Company." He was visible from afar, approaching the walls with a white flag in his hand, his gait a pathetic parody of confidence. The marauders on the walls, spotting the lone figure with a white flag, initially reacted with caution, aiming their crossbows at him. But then, on a signal from their leader, the gates opened just enough to let him inside.
Inside the fortress, Hassan was met by a group that looked no different from ordinary bandits, but with eyes full of predatory greed and cold calculation. Their leader, a burly man with a scar across his entire face, sat at a rough table, surrounded by the remains of a recent meal.
Hassan, remembering the Lord's words about "bargaining a soul from the devil," began his speech. He exaggerated the size of the Lord's expedition, hinted at his incredible power, but then lowered his voice, speaking of the "unwillingness" of the Lord of the North to shed blood if an agreement could be reached. He laid out several large, but not the most valuable, stones on the table, letting them sparkle in the dim light.
"My lord," Hassan began, his voice trembling, but his eyes remaining sharp, "the Lord of the North, my wise patron, does not wish for unnecessary bloodshed. He is traveling to the East on an important mission for the Emperor, and this path... this path we need. We are willing to pay for your hospitality. For passage through your lands. Here... this is but a small part of what we are prepared to offer." He gestured to the glittering stones. "This is better than a battle, is it not? A battle means blood and death, but these stones mean food, weapons, women... whatever you desire."
The marauder leader, though crude, was not stupid. He understood that he was facing not an ordinary merchant, but an emissary of a great power. The glitter of the stones was tempting, and the risk of clashing with a well-armed expedition, which Hassan had so colorfully, albeit fearfully, described, was too great. After brief but tense negotiations, during which Hassan skillfully juggled fear and greed, an agreement was reached. The marauders demanded more stones than Hassan had initially offered, but less than you were willing to pay. They agreed to grant passage through the section of the path they controlled and even promised not to attack the expedition for an agreed-upon time. Hassan, triumphant and barely containing his relief, handed them the bag of precious stones.
Having bypassed the marauders' den thanks to Hassan's dexterity and the Lord's calculation, the expedition continued its movement deep into the territory of the Sultanate. The negotiations had proceeded without a sound, and the column moved unhindered along the now "permitted" section of the path.
As they advanced, the traces of war became more noticeable and horrific. The burnt-out skeletons of villages turned into the ruins of cities, where the blackened frames of mosques and residential quarters were visible. The road was pockmarked with craters from siege engines, and along the roadsides were destroyed siege machines, abandoned standards, and the scorched remains of banners. The fields, once fertile, were now trampled and littered with the wreckage of weapons and a few decomposed bodies.
Green, constantly studying the terrain and analyzing what he saw, leaned towards the Lord during one of the halts, pointing out the characteristic destruction and the state of the abandoned positions. "My lord," he said, his voice serious, "judging by the condition of the bodies, by how the grass has grown over the former camps, and by the nature of the destruction, the main battles here took place about two weeks ago. The Imperials passed through this region very recently and, it seems, moved very quickly."
This confirmed the Lord's calculations: the Emperor's Crusade was swift and successful, leaving a wide trail of destruction in its wake. The Sultanate had been pushed far to the east, leaving behind devastated lands, ideal for the Lord's clandestine search. It also meant that the vanguard of the crusaders must be somewhere significantly ahead, reducing the risk of an unwanted encounter.
Hassan, observing this nightmare, grew even paler, but his eyes continued to scan the ground, searching for anything of value among the ruins. Father Tuck seemed satisfied with what he saw, viewing it as the "wrath of God" and confirmation of the words of retribution. 78
The decision was swift and decisive. The deep penetration of the Imperial forces, though easing the journey, also increased the risk of an unwelcome encounter. "Reconnaissance of new lands" was one thing, but encountering the forward units of the Crusade, who might ask too many questions, was entirely unnecessary. The mission had to remain in the shadows. 81
"Intensify reconnaissance!" the Lord commanded. "Leib Hussars are to operate more widely, checking every hill and every valley. Look not only for signs of the enemy, but also for traces of imperial troops. If you find them, report immediately. An encounter with the Imperials is of no use to us. We are moving along our own route and must remain undetected by them."
The order was conveyed to every scout. The Leib Hussars, thanks to their speed and maneuverability, fanned out across the territory, creating a wide screen around the main detachment. Their experienced eyes now searched not only for marauder camps but also for any signs of organized imperial forces: fresh campfires, trodden paths, abandoned markers, or even distant signal fires. This order further heightened the tension within the detachment. Every warrior understood that they now had to avoid not only the enemy but also their "allies," which made movement more complex and demanded exceptional vigilance. Hassan, sensing the change in mood, became even more nervous, glancing repeatedly at the map in the Lord's hands, as if trying to decipher what new danger he was trying to avoid.
After many days of traveling through the scorched plains, full of anxiety and dust, the detachment finally reached the first landmark on the map – a ruined tower. Its silhouette appeared on the horizon as the sun was setting, presenting itself to you as a dark, jagged tooth knocked out from the jaw of an ancient mountain. The tower was very old. Its stones, once hewn and smooth, were now covered with deep cracks, eroded by wind and time. Part of its masonry had collapsed, leaving gaping openings through which the wind whistled, creating eerie howls. Centuries-old vines clung to the remains of the walls, and the roots of trees that had grown directly from its base were tearing the foundation apart. There were no signs of recent battles here – only slow, relentless destruction, subject only to the years. It looked like a forgotten guardian of a long-past era.
Camp was made nearby, and the Lord, Green, and Father Tuck approached the ruins. Green carefully compared the outlines of the tower with what was on the parchment, his face lighting up with satisfaction. "Exactly, my lord. This is it. The landmark is correct. The map is authentic." His pragmatic mind was pleased with the confirmation of the data.
Father Tuck walked around the ruins, examining the ancient stones with particular interest. "One can feel the breath of centuries here, my lord. And a great many secrets. Perhaps this tower is older than the Bloody Sultanate itself." His words added a sense of mystery to the journey. 1
Hassan, though looking frightened by the sight of the ancient ruins and the shadows they cast, nevertheless, his eyes keenly searched for anything valuable among the debris.
Reaching the first landmark was an important step. It confirmed not only the accuracy of the map but also the fact that the expedition was moving in the right direction, ever closer to the untold treasures.
The Lord had grasped the essence perfectly. His observations confirmed the importance and antiquity of the find. The Bloody Sultanate had come to power relatively recently, establishing its tyranny and in many ways changing the face of the East. The map found by Hassan was undoubtedly older than this regime. And if on such an ancient map the tower was marked as a landmark, it meant only one thing: this tower was very ancient, it existed and was a significant point long before the rise of the Bloody Sultanate. Perhaps it was part of an even more ancient empire or civilization that few now remember. Its condition, eroded by centuries, only confirmed this fact.
Having reached the ancient tower, the expedition did not linger long. The map, which had so accurately led them to the first landmark, now pointed to a new, more complex part of the journey. The route diverged from the Eastern Silk Road, along which merchant caravans and the armies of the Crusade moved, and went deeper into the desert.
The landscape changed abruptly. The once relatively hilly and sparsely vegetated lands gave way to endless expanses of sand and weathered rocks. The sun beat down mercilessly, and the wind raised clouds of dust. Movement became slower and more grueling, despite the endurance of the Death Squad. The Leib Hussars were now even more important, scouting the way in this monotonous but treacherous terrain.
It was here, in this lifeless desert, that ruins were found here and there. These were not just the skeletons of burned villages, but far more ancient ruins – fragments of walls, remnants of columns, half-buried foundations of buildings, executed in an architectural style completely different from any you knew. It seemed as if the desert itself was slowly swallowing the traces of a long-gone civilization.
Father Tuck, always attentive to the signs and symbols of the past, addressed the Lord, his voice full of contemplation. "My lord," he said, pointing to another half-buried arch, "look at these traces of canals, these weathered walls. These are not just wild settlements. Perhaps, in place of this desert, long ago, there were habitable territories. Flourishing cities, oases... This must have been millennia ago, when there was neither an Empire nor a Sultanate."
His words only confirmed the Lord's own suspicions. The map he held in his hands was leading not just to lost treasures, but to the secrets of a long-forgotten era when this region prospered. This made the adventure even more exciting and potentially more profitable—for treasures of such antiquity could hold not only gold, but also unimaginable artifacts, and even forgotten knowledge.
As they ventured deeper into the scorched lands, under the blazing sun and amidst the endless sands, the Lord suddenly realized his first serious mistake. His northern clothes, designed for the harsh climate of the Mountain Ridge, and his sturdy northern horses, adapted to the cold, were completely unsuitable for such terrain. The warriors, accustomed to the cool mountains and damp forests, suffered from the unbearable heat. The thick woolen kilts and dense leather armor of the "Black Company," which provided excellent protection from the cold and enemy blows, had now turned into instruments of torture, trapping heat and preventing the body from breathing. Their faces were covered with a layer of dust and sweat, and their lips were cracked from dehydration.
The northern horses, powerful and resilient in the mountains, quickly tired here. They were not adapted to the soft sand that got into their hooves, nor to the lack of familiar fodder. The sun burned their hides, and the rare watering holes were insufficient. Their breathing became heavy, their movements slowed, and everyone understood that a few more days of such a journey could lead to exhaustion and the loss of valuable animals.
Green, noticing the Lord's concern, only sighed heavily, acknowledging the obvious. Father Tuck, though suffering himself, philosophically remarked that "the desert tests the soul's strength." Hassan, with his heightened sense of discomfort, looked particularly pathetic, constantly fanning himself and complaining of the "heat of hell."
This mistake was critical. Without adequate equipment and adapted animals, the expedition's speed was dropping catastrophically, and the risk of disease and exhaustion grew with every hour.
Realizing the mistake with the equipment and animals, the Lord quickly assessed the risks and made the only right decision to continue the mission. "The main part of the expedition is to return to the Eastern Road!" his command rang out. "There they will await my next order. We cannot risk the entire detachment in this red-hot trap."
It was a difficult but necessary decision. The supply wagons, the bulk of the infantry, and most of the horses suffering from the heat began to turn back, heading towards roads more suitable for life and supply. "Only a small detachment of 20 men will proceed," the Lord continued, addressing Green. "The most resilient and reliable. They will mainly be fighters from the 'Black Company,' strong and capable of long marches, and a few dismounted Leib Hussars to use their reconnaissance skills. This will allow us to increase mobility and carry less water and provisions. For the dangers in this desert, if there are any, this will be sufficient."
The Lord, Green, Father Tuck, and Hassan, of course, remained with this advance party. The remaining 20 men were the best of the best, selected for their endurance, discipline, and ability to operate in extreme conditions. They were supplied with lightened armor, enough water for a rapid march, and the most essential survival and combat equipment. Most of the northern horses were sent back, with only a few of the hardiest remaining to transport critically important supplies. Perhaps the Lord expected to find animals better adapted to the desert somewhere ahead or to proceed on foot.
After days of grueling march across endless sand dunes and weathered rocks, the search for the next landmark became increasingly tiresome. The map, so accurate in the mountains, seemed almost useless here in the constantly changing desert landscape. The ancient landmarks marked on it could have been buried under tons of sand or erased by the relentless wind. The detachment, though small, moved slowly, each step requiring effort, and the hope of finding the mosque faded with every hour.
It was then, just as fatigue began to take its toll and the warriors' faces were covered with a thick layer of dust and despair, that Hassan's luck once again manifested itself in the most ridiculous but effective way. As usual, he had fallen slightly behind the group, his eyes scanning the sand, searching for any trinket, no matter how insignificant. And then he froze.
"My lord! Look!" his high-pitched voice, full of excitement, rang out. "Something is shining! Like... like gold!"
The entire detachment turned around. Hassan was pointing at a barely perceptible glint that appeared and disappeared on the surface of the sand. Convinced he had stumbled upon a forgotten treasure, he had already begun to dig frantically with his hands. The warriors, snickering, joined him, thinking it was just another of Hassan's "finds."
However, as the sand was cleared away with shovels and hands, the laughter died down. The glint became brighter, and then a curved, smooth surface appeared. This was no small ornament. It was a huge, gleaming, buried-under-the-sand dome of a mosque. Its outlines were massive, and the color of the stone, probably once white or blue, was now dulled by time but still reflected the sunlight. The mosque was buried so deep in the sand that only the very top of its dome remained on the surface, hidden from a casual glance.
Green quickly compared the find with the map, his eyes widening. "This is it, my lord! This is the second landmark. It's completely buried. How long has it been here?"
Father Tuck, kneeling, ran his hand over the smooth stone. "This is an ancient shrine, my lord. Older than the Bloody Sultanate. Perhaps secrets that were forgotten long before our time rest here."
Hassan, realizing that his "treasure" was in fact a gigantic ancient structure, first sighed in disappointment, and then his eyes lit up with new excitement. "So, there might be treasures inside! If it's an ancient mosque, there must be treasures, right?"
The Lord looks at Hassan, whose eyes are burning with anticipation of hidden treasures, and then turns his gaze to the massive, half-buried dome. Yes, there might be treasures there, perhaps even untold riches. But the reality is harsh: to completely excavate the mosque from the sand, discover its hidden passages, and explore every corner would require thousands of people and more than a week of painstaking work. This is absolutely impossible for his small, mobile detachment. The Lord's main goal is the map and its final treasure, not archaeological excavations.
"Yes, Hassan, there might be treasures there," the Lord said, looking at the dome. "But we have neither the men nor the time for such large-scale work." This mosque, although an important landmark on the map, could not become a trap for them. To be distracted by a full excavation would mean dooming the main mission to failure, risking discovery, and depleting their supplies.
The Lord looked at Hassan, whose greed was already painting mountains of gold from the buried mosque in his mind. Green nodded, fully agreeing with his conclusions. "The treasures of the mosque, my lord," he said, "if they were significant, were surely removed and hidden by those who built this mosque or used it. It is logical that they were moved to where the map points." His pragmatic mind always sought the most efficient path.
This confirmation from his advisors only strengthened the Lord's resolve. The mosque was an important landmark, a testament to antiquity, and a reminder of the scale of forgotten riches, but not the final goal. The Lord's attention was fully focused on the next point on the map. The desert continued to hide its secrets, but now he knew he was moving towards the very heart of these secrets.
The detachment moved on, into the very heart of the parching desert. Every step was a struggle. The sun beat down mercilessly from a cloudless sky, turning the sand into a scorching, shifting sea that reflected the light and blinded the eyes. The air was hot and dry, burning the lungs with every breath. The warriors, despite their endurance and conditioning, suffered from dehydration. Sweat evaporated instantly, leaving salt stains on their faces. Their lips cracked, their voices grew hoarse. The stored water was disappearing before their eyes, and every sip was worth its weight in gold. The few horses they had were also barely moving, their flanks heaving heavily. For food, there were only dry rations—hardtack and jerky, which only increased their thirst but provided minimal energy to keep going. Conversations ceased, leaving only heavy breathing and the crunch of sand underfoot.
Hassan, in his usual state of panic, now looked particularly pitiful. His once-shiny clothes had become dirty and crumpled, and his usual complaints had been replaced by a hoarse mumbling. Green, though maintaining his composure, constantly glanced at the water flasks, assessing the remaining supplies. Father Tuck seemed to have withdrawn into himself, quietly whispering prayers, which only emphasized the hopelessness of the situation.
A few days later, under the merciless sun, the inevitable happened. The northern horses, unable to withstand the scorching sands and lack of water, began to fall one by one. Their strong bodies, accustomed to the mountain cold, could not endure the desert heat. It was a heavy loss. Each horse was a valuable asset, a means of transportation, and a way to carry at least some supplies. Now the detachment was completely on foot, which further slowed their progress and increased the physical strain on the warriors.
However, in this harsh reality, the death of the animals also brought temporary relief. The members of the expedition were able to eat horse meat. It was tough, stringy meat, cooked hastily over small fires, but it provided much-needed strength and protein to recover at least a little after days of dehydration and hunger. The supplies of dry rations, which only made them thirstier, now seemed less critical.
The morale of the detachment was severely tested. The warriors' faces were covered with dust and fatigue, but determination burned in their eyes. Hassan, though he mourned each fallen horse, ate the meat with appetite, his survival instinct overcoming his fear. Green silently recorded the losses, while Father Tuck muttered words of comfort and blessing over the fallen animals, equating their sacrifice to a trial sent from above.
Now, relying entirely on their own feet, your detachment, though reduced and exhausted, continued its journey into the depths of the merciless desert, one step closer to its ancient secrets.
A couple more days of inhuman travel across the scorching sands, under the merciless sun, and the desert took its toll. Not in battle, not at the hands of an enemy, but from exhaustion, dehydration, and diseases caused by the unbearable conditions. One by one, members of the detachment fell, quietly fading away in the sands. There were no cries or heroic struggles, only a silent collapse from which there was no strength to rise. Each loss was a blow to morale, but the need to move on suppressed the grief. The bodies of the dead, too heavy to carry, were quickly buried under the sand to avoid attracting scavengers. The detachment, which had begun its journey into the desert with 20 men, was now reduced to 15. Five of the best warriors had fallen victim to this merciless environment. Each loss was palpable, as each of them had been an elite fighter.
The remaining survivors became even more silent, their faces drawn and gaunt, but a firm fire of determination burned in their eyes. Hassan, though looking frightened, continued to cling to life with instinctive tenacity. Green, gritting his teeth, continued to lead the way, carefully rationing every meager sip of water. Father Tuck's voice had grown hoarse from thirst, but he continued to pray, his faith seemingly only strengthening in the face of such relentless nature.
Now every step was a test of will, every drop of water priceless. The detachment was at its limit, but the goal, the ancient treasures, beckoned them forward, through pain and loss.
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