Land of Salvania

  The desert sun baked him inside the heavy armor. As his burning thoughts began to wonder, he was sure that a dragon was bearing down on him, trying to cook him slowly. When he finally fell off, his horse happily trotted back to the dusty outpost on the edge of the wasteland. The knight was a fool, and he deserved a fool's reward. /// Copyright

Ulrich blinked in the gods be damned desert heat as he trudged over the baked scrubland toward a shadow, a castle. They built it around an oasis for parched travelers if the rumors were true. Maybe they built it around an eligible princess as well. He was amazed that there was only one guard outside the castle. He wore no obvious armor or shield, and his desert scimitar was no match for the Northman’s axe. Moreover, he looked well past his prime. When Ulrich reached a spear-throw from the guard, the man stepped forward and held out his hand. A string of unknown language followed. “I am sorry, my friend,” Ulrich said, showing his empty hands. “I do not speak your language.” The leather-skinned guard regarded him for a moment and scratched his scruffy beard. If he was like every other castle guard in every other part of Salvania, he was probably figuring how to extract a “toll” for entry. He stepped forward to meet Ulrich.  “Why is you be here?” the guard asked. “What is you ...