Chapter Text
It had been a long and thirsty hike from the border mountains. The Desert Kingdoms were more sparse and spiny scrubland than shifting sands, but wells and springs were few and far between. Inevitably, any reliable source of water grew into a small town, somewhere for the nomadic lizard herders to meet and trade.
And since his water canteen was now empty, here Sicarius was too. Even assassins needed to drink to survive.
The Desert Kingdoms had fared badly during the plague. The sudden depopulation followed by the Change had destabilised the inter-tribal truces that had held for the past hundred years. Now, a leader had emerged who threatened to unite the many kingdoms into a new confederation that would upset the balance of power along the Empire’s southernmost borders. Naturally, this was not in the Empire's interest to allow.
Sicarius wandered into the town in search of the well. He was wearing a pale brown desert robe instead of his habitual black. The well and marketplace were inevitably next to each other in the centre of town. Awnings hung between buildings providing shade from the glare of the sun for the traders.
He paid the toll to the wellkeeper, and joined the queue on the steps that spiralled down the side of the well shaft. The water was several feet below, at its summer low level. The queue moved briskly, and it was only a few minutes before he was at the water filling his canteen to the brim, and also quenching his thirst with a couple of handfuls scooped straight into his mouth.
He climbed back up the stair and passed out through the well-gate into the marketplace crowd, where he wandered back and forth for a while, browsing the stalls and listening in to conversations. Hearing no new news or information that might affect his mission plan, he headed out of town again. Back to the dusty road towards his target.