Tariel walked away from the caravan, the sheer number of people here boggled his mind.  After all, the biggest city he had ever seen was Tristram in central Khanduras, and that was only a small town compared to this city.  He walked aimlessly, people ducking out of his way; they even made room for his long, sweeping robes.  Several kids lined up to watch him pass, as if he had stepped out of some kind of storybook and into reality.  Maerhyn had often told them that true mages were rare in the eastern lands nowadays, and after the passing of the Horadrim into legend many mages had left those ancient kingdoms. 

"Sir, are you a magic-man?"

Tariel bent down, resting on one knee.  The dark-skinned youth looked up at him with awe, the Turinash concealed very nearly all of his features.

"In my own way, little one." Tariel said warmly, rifling a hand through the youth's hair.

"My dad always said that magic-men were stories, that they're not really real?"

"Magic is as real as you or I, little one."

"Tariel!" a voice called from behind him, causing the boy to scamper off in fear.  Tariel turned to face Warriv; he was waving his arms at him, trying to get his attention.

"Yes, Warriv?"

"I have a… friend… someone who wishes to speak with you."

Tariel walked towards Warriv, the city-goers regarding him with more fright than the awe the boy had shown.  Something dark was in this place; Tariel could feel it in his bones.  Maerhyn had taught him to never be deaf to his instincts, and he listened to the sounds of warning within his own gut.  Warriv led him to one of the caravan's wagons, holding the flap open and directing him inside.  This wagon's interior was not lit by any means, yet he knew he was not alone.

"Tariel, is it?"

"Yes, do I know you?"

"No, not yet… though we seek the same thing, you and I."

"What do we seek?"

"Myself, I seek a cult that thrives in this part of the world, I seek to eradicate it utterly, and it's idol with it."

"What does that have to do with me, sir?"

"You too have been wronged by this order, this cult.  I believe I know… or can lead you to the man you seek."

"Who are you?" Tariel asked pointedly.

"Who I am, or what my motives might be, are of no concern to you, Tariel." He said in return, waving a dismissing hand towards the upstart man.

"Now listen, I have been attacked by wild creatures, almost died in the desert, and now I sit in front of a patronizing man telling me things he rightfully should not know.  You will tell me what is happening or by Azurewrath I will make you pay."

"Enough!" Anger now, even Tariel was taken aback by it, "I will not have you blaspheme in front of me.  My name is Malek, and it is all you need know.  Go to the Temple of the Suns that lies only a few hours from here.  Follow the path of the setting sun… I will meet you there."

"How do you know these things, Malek, who are you?"

"As I said, that is not important.  Sithian is waiting for you, Tariel," Tariel stiffened as the name of his enemy was spoken, "would you let him get away from you?"

"No… no I would not."

"Tonight, while the sun is down and the sands are cool… go to the Temple of the Suns."

"But…"

"Go!  Leave me now."

Tariel got up and left the wagon, vexed and extremely confused.  Warriv was not there to meet him and the streets of Lut Gholein were thinning as the night fell around them.  As a general rule, night was not a safe time to be outdoors, especially in these dark days.  Tariel watched as the sun slowly began to set on its destined arc, painting everything in a surreal cast of darkness tinged with sepia tones.  One hour of rest, Tariel thought bitterly, then I will begin my quest anew.  He walked until he found a reasonable shade tree and slumped down to lean against it.  His head whirled with possibilities and a tumult of questions about his mysterious benefactor, Malek.  Was he one of them, a Necromancer?  What had Maerhyn meant in all his words to Sithian, all the names he had hurled at the man?  Why did Maerhyn call him a heretic and an exiled one, and why did Sithian address Maerhyn as a Lord?  These questions he asked themselves as he slept, letting the darkness pall upon his thoughts.  As he slept he dreamed again of the College, this time walking the emptied parade grounds with Maerhyn.

The summer wind felt good upon his face again, not the killing heat of the desert but only the gentle warmth of his home.  No longer in his Turinash, but only in his simple clothes, the ones he wore in his apprenticehood. 

"What is it like, Tariel?" Maerhyn asked in the old, rough voice.

"What is it like to be what?"

"To be one of the Vizjerei?"

"But master Maerhyn, I am only an apprentice."

"And I am dead, Tariel, and you are dreaming of all of this."

Tariel laughed in the dream, but he could not help but feel a small twinge of remorse, for deep down he knew everything Maerhyn said was true.  He only hid the knowledge from himself.

"Tariel, you must listen…" the voice began to change, to become rougher, more guttural. 

"Listen?  I am listening…" he was becoming more afraid.

The voice he was hearing became deeper still, less like Maerhyn's and more like Malek's.

"You are in grave danger, Vizjerei."

"But Maerhyn…" he stopped, looking down at himself, he was now wearing his Turinash once again.  And he was no longer on the parade grounds at the Mage's School, he was in the night desert of the eastern lands.  "Malek, where are we?"

"The Temple of the Suns, one of the many temples where it is believed that the body of Tal Rasha is interred for all time."

"Tal Rasha?  Who is that?"

But Malek was gone, and Tariel found himself on the foothills, looking down at the forbidding site of the temple.  He was fully awake now, dimly understanding that somehow he had been guided here.  He gathered up his spirit robes in the chill of the desert night and made his way towards the temple.  Unseen eyes watched him from every shadow.