Show Notes
Before sunrise, Narala held its breath. The lamps that had burned all night flickered weakly in the cool air, and the silence that covered the oasis was different from any the people had known before. It wasn't the quiet of sleeping tents or the calm after a successful market day.It was the silence of waiting, when every ear listened for a sound that had not yet come. Harith stood at the top of the eastern watchtower, with a bow resting against the ancient stones. From there, he could see the broad plain stretching westward, where the desert lay like frozen waves beneath the fading stars.Somewhere beyond those dunes marched Qadar and the united raider tribes. Below, the city had changed. The market square, where merchants had once bartered over incense and leather, had become a training ground. Blacksmiths who had spent years shaping farming tools now forged spearheads and arrow tips without pause.Potters filled clay jars with oil to be stored along the walls.Carpenters reinforced gates with heavy beams hauled from distant mountain forests.
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