For days, Ishmael tracked across the shattered wastelands of the desert, following the trail of the slavers who had stolen his new bride. When he found the caravan hijacked and the slavers dead at the hands of the foul, diseased Outlanders, he feared the worst. Of Dalili herself there was no trace, either among the dead or the few unfortunates held prisoner there. Ishmael's anger knew no bounds, and he flew into a red rage, slaughtering all but the eldest of the desert outcasts, to whom he promised a slow lingering death unless he could tell Ishmael of the fate of his beloved. The toothless old wretch, barely capable of coherent thought - let alone speech - could do no more than press a trinket into the young man's hand and point to the north, where smoke from the temple of Baal curled lazily into the air. Ishmael gave him the quick death he had promised, only then looking at the bauble the old man had given him. It was Dalili's necklace.