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can you allow such brutality, Kaz? What would Lucia say if she knew such things existed?
    A flash of light filled the night sky. Tobin stepped back and shielded his eyes from the sudden glare. Blinking, he set off toward the village center near the oasis.
    Has to be sorcery. But here?
    He arrived a few moments later with other Kifzo close behind. The ground around the oasis resembled the rest of the village. Dead littered the orange sand, oozing dark fluids from fresh wounds. Tobin’s eyes widened in shock. As many Kifzo warriors lay dead and dying as villagers.
    Looking up from the bloody mess, several Kifzo caught his eye. Struggling to stand, they fought to defend themselves, pressed and battered by fishermen carrying little else but crude weapons more suited to their trade than for battle.
    Tobin called out to those who had followed him, “Quick, help them.”
    The warriors ran off to join the fray, putting the fishermen on the defensive. Tobin scanned the area, crouched at the ready. Sudden movement drew his attention to the shadows of a date tree. His hand snatched the throwing ax at his belt and whipped it toward the lurking figure hiding in the gloom. Tobin watched his throw sail through the air, confident he’d found his mark. However the ax came to a halt mid-air, hovering for a moment before falling to the ground. The figure stepped forward and another wave of light assaulted his senses. He found himself beset with sudden weakness, unable to focus. Stumbling to one knee, he saw Kifzo staggering and falling all around him, straining to keep their weapons up as the villagers surged forward.
    The figure by the trees approached Tobin. He saw bones of both animal and human hanging from the shaman’s robes. Raising a hand, the shaman extended his index finger at Tobin as he tried to rise from his knees.
    Tobin inhaled a deep breath, ready for whatever fate brought him. But the shaman burst into flames and convulsed to the ground. Tobin shook his head in denial as he watched the shaman’s body grow still, the remains of his clothing crackling under the intense heat.
    How did that happen? But he had no time to consider such things. With the grogginess clearing and strength returning to his limbs, he picked up his bow and began firing shots at villagers eager to escape now that the Kifzo were unhindered by sorcery. His eyes widened as a fleeing villager burst into flames only a moment before his arrow caught the man.
    Tobin twisted to his right where a tall man dressed in tattered red garb stood bent and out of breath. Tobin’s hand immediately went for his other throwing ax but the man stood up first, one arm raised in submission, the other hung at his side. “Wait. Please.”
    Ax in hand, Tobin closed in on the man. “Did you kill the shaman? And that man?” he asked gesturing with the weapon.
    Still panting, the man responded. “Yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more but I am still weak from my journey.”
    “Journey? What are you doing here?”
    Breathing heavy, the man shook his head. “Too much to explain. For now, just know that your enemy is mine.” Swallowing hard, he gestured toward several wounded Kifzo. “I’ve never been a strong healer but I have enough strength that if you’ll allow me, I may be able to help the worst of your men now that the battle appears over.”
    Tobin saw it was true. The last few villagers fell under Kifzo blades. “Who are you? And why would you help us?”
    “My name is Nachun. And as I said, your enemy is mine.” Nachun inclined his head in the direction of a fallen Kifzo whose hand staunched the flow of blood at his side. “May I?”
    Reluctant at first, Tobin lowered his weapon and nodded.
    Nachun moved with caution toward the fallen Kifzo. Tobin followed, scanning the area and taking in the damages. Close to twenty Kifzo lay dead, mostly those tasked to gain control of the oasis. An additional half dozen teetered on the edge of death themselves. The losses were