He fell, breathing in the superheated air in shallow gasps.  The sun was nowhere even close to setting, and it hovered overhead like a burning furnace.  The alkali-crust of the caravan trail was cracked and broken, but at least he would die on it, at least he would die on the way to find his mentor's killer.  It wasn't completely honorable, but far better than reneging his duty.  Already his skin was blistering under the intense heat and he had nothing with which to cover himself.  A mirage of a city loomed on the horizon, but this wasn't the first mirage he had seen in the great desert, many times an oasis seemed right on course but had vanished as he neared it.  The vision of the city had been one that had plagued him for over an hour.  He had learned to discount these things as his mind betraying him in its need for moisture.

"Aliandra, please forgive me…" he mumbled as he collapsed face down into the burning sands.

Then there was darkness, and endless void of darkness that consumed him as he seemed to fall down into it.  From the darkness voices mocked him, overwhelming them all was the voice of the man named Sithian, the dark mage he hunted.  He fought his way through the shadows, rushing out to find the voice and slay it.  The fever of his need for vengeance propelled him deeper into the throat of darkness.

"Will he live?" a voice came from nowhere, overriding even the goading voice of Sithian.  Tariel stared into the swirling mass of shadows, bewildered.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"I do not know… perhaps, he has been sun-poisoned." Another voice responded, ignoring his question completely.

"Who's there, please?"

"More water… immerse him in it…"

"Am I dead?" he shouted in vain.

"Lord Warriv, we don't have it to spare."

"He will die if you do not, now do it, he will take my reserves.  After all, we are only a day out of Lut Gholein." He added.

"As you request, Lord Warriv."

The crashing return of consciousness swept his from the deep shadows and he felt the comfort of cool water all about him.  A scream was ripped from him as he rose, his skin stinging from coolness around him.  After a moment he sank back beneath the water, his arms and face burning horribly.  He ignored the pain as best he could.

"Am I dead?" he asked with his clotted voice.

"No, my friend, but almost.  You are in the King's Caravan… burned but safe." Came the reply.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Warriv, caravan master of this rolling wreck, and you?"

"I am Tariel of the Vizjerei."

"A Vizjerei, this far into the desert.  You've come far, do you need water of food?"

"Water.  Please?"

Warriv handed Tariel his flask and he drank greedily from it, then choked it up all it once.

"Slow down, you are recovering from heat sickness, go slow young Vizjerei."

He drank slower this time and the water sat uneasily in his stomach, as if it didn't know what to do.  After a few more sips the hooks left his parched throat and he could speak without pain.

"Where… am I?"

"You were almost a day outside of the City of Lut Gholein, jewel of the East."

"The city… was real?"

"As real as you or I, Tariel."

"I though it was a mirage… a wisp…"

"I can understand why, you were very near death when Korrigan found you, you were raving at people not there."

"I see…"

"I have met many who would have folded then and there, Tariel, and for a Westerner you are exceptionally stout, Vizjerei." He said, clapping Tariel on the back.

Tariel laughed too, his skin still stinging with pain. 

"We have a balm that will lessen the pain, if you wish."

"Please…"

Warriv got up from his chair and walked out of the wagon.  Tariel took the chance to survey the room inside this place.  It was lit by the uneasy light of a shielded lantern, but the heat of the outside was muted a great deal within canvas walls of its cover.  He slipped back inside the bath, the pain soothed by the water as he drifted off into sleep.  He dreamed of home, dreamed of his youth at the Mage's School, but in all of this was the haunting need for vengeance.

As he slept the caravan finally came to the city of Lut Gholein, the low din of the city woke Tariel as the caravan pulled into the town proper.  Tariel quickly donned his Turinash and exited the wagon, the setting sun of the desert lighting the city in sullen crimsons and deepening hues of orange.  It was a marvel that such a city could bloom in the heart of the man-killing desert. 

"Ah, young Vizjerei, welcome to Lut Gholein.  I see you are up and about this night."

"Indeed, a thousand thanks to you friend Warriv," Tariel reached into his belt pouch and withdrew five gold coins, holding them out to Warriv in his sunburnt hands, "for you, for the water you have wasted on me."

"No, nothing was wasted in saving your life, that I can see plainly.  As for the water, give me two gold and we will make it as though you never owed me."

Tariel handed him the two, looking out to the city.

"You are looking for someone, aren't you?"

"Yes… a man.  I followed him, I think he is here."

"I see, go find the tavern, it is the first place I would look."

"Thank you again, friend Warriv, may the angels look out for you and yours."