Cold obsidian

Vlada put her hand on Kan’s shoulders in silence.

Finally, Kangassk got himself together. He stood up and wiped the blood from his new sword, a katana similar to the one Vlada bought in Aren-castell, but made by the master, not his stupid runaway apprentice. Kan turned his face away from the dead “freaks”. Desperately wanting to change the subject, he approached one of the goggle-eyed non-human bandits he had killed and touched the little furry body with the nose of his boot.

“I’ve never seen these creatures before,” he said.

“Maskaks.” Vlada shrugged. “There are lots of them in the North. No idea how they got here, though.”

“…So you’ve been to the North?” Kangassk kept questioning Vlada while she was bandaging his injured head.

“Yes. Many times,” she answered.

“What is it like?”

“Cold. Windy. Snowy in winter. You’ll like it there.”

“Oh, I read about snow! It’s frozen water. They say it’s beautiful…” Kan stopped dead mid sentence. “Wait! Are we going to the North?”

“Maybe, later. Right now we have to pay a visit to one special little region in No Man’s Land, then we’ll see. Now, off with the questions!” she said in a strict tone. “The caravan is departing soon. Get up onto the saddle, lean against the dunewalker’s hunch, and have some sleep. I’ll make sure you won’t fall. Go.”

“North…” whispered Kangassk, tired and drowsy. “Magical North…”

Gentle rocking of the saddle lulled him to sleep. On the very verge of the sleepy oblivion he felt Vlada’s little hands on his waist, carefully holding him so he wouldn’t be afraid of falling down.

Another day and a half passed. The caravan followed the road in complete silence, everyone tense, alert, and constantly looking around. Kangassk was no exception. His injured head hurt mercilessly, and the very thought that he might get a hit with a stone again made him furious, so staying awake wasn’t a problem. Also, he was prepared this time, bow, arrows, and all. No wonder a maskak who was unlucky enough to peek at the caravan above the dune, got an arrow to the eye.

“Yeah! Get it, sucker!” Kangassk growled victoriously.

“Good job!” Vlada clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve got the scout. There won’t be a second raid now.”

“Who knows?” There suddenly was a doubt in Kan’s voice. “Maybe he wasn’t alone.”

“Even so, they will know we are alert and ready, not an easy prey at all. They won’t risk it.”

A merchant riding a dunewalker in front of Vlada and Kangassk turned his face to them and nodded in approval.

Indeed, there was no second raid.

The dunes grew smaller and smaller with every hour. Soon, the ancient cobblestones of the road were clearly visible again, their sand-repelling runes heavily worn by wind and time, but still working their magic. The feeling of being watched, hunted, gradually faded. People began to talk again. Vlada explained to her companion how the road magic worked and shared some stories from her life as a Wanderer. With all the dangers behind them the journey became quite pleasant again; the time flew.

By the next morning they had entered Border. The town was small, but well defended, both from the ever-advancing sands and possible bandit raids. Unlike the rest of Kuldagan population, Borderers didn’t bother with preserving the ancestors’ purity, so there wasn’t a single pair of identical faces in the crowd. They also were diurnal people, busy during the day, sleeping at night, just like the rest of the world behind the Mountain Ring. Kangassk was shocked at the diversity of faces, at the bubbling, noisy day life, at the coolness of the air which was so different there, close to the mountains… Needless to say, he looked hilarious in his endless shocked excitement. Vlada couldn’t help smiling every time she looked at him.

Local inns went by the word “dlar” as well, but, having many storeys connected by winding staircases, resembled little towers. Vlada rented a whole storey on top of one such tower. There were three rooms there: one for her, one for Kangassk; the third room stayed empty for the sake of the perfect peace and quiet she wanted after the journey.

Kangassk had hoped to sleep through the day as he did most of his life, but Vlada didn’t allow it. His objections ignored, the wounded guy was dragged to the nearest healer to have his head treated properly. Since using magic is too dangerous so close to No Man’s Land, the healer treated him with some nasty smelling ointment and a decoction of burngrass root, which felt precisely like what its name implied: burning mercilessly. After Kan’s head had been treated and bandaged Vlada took him to the market to buy some armour. To his surprise, they passed by all the heavily laden stalls displaying chainmails, breastplates, helmets, and all kinds of exotic items. Vlada spoke to the local weapons dealer directly and asked him for kevlar. The old master had just snarled at first, but then changed his mind and brought her a couple of thick lined cloaks, time worn, dusty, and discoloured by the sun. The price the old man asked for them made Kangassk’s jaw drop. Vlada paid it in full, not even bothering to haggle.

Vlada tried her luck again, asking for a gun, but no, the old man didn’t have one.

“No one goes into the Burnt Region anymore,” he said. “Everyone goes around. It adds two weeks to the journey, but, hey, you’ll arrive in one piece, so that’s worth it.”

The kevlar armor he sold them was some kind of family legacy from the gold rush times, hence the high price.

“Maybe we should go around as well?” Kangassk asked Vlada that evening at dinner, meek hope in his voice.

“No,” she replied.

“Why? Just why!” Kan threw his hands up in indignation.

“Because I’m in a hurry.”

“To do what?”

“Hmm…” Vlada hummed, contemplating. “Okay. Let’s say, I’m going to the Dead Region to redeem my good name and help an old friend… You can stay here, Kan. It’s a free town. No one will ever see you as a freak here. Live your life. Be happy.”

“No! I’m not letting you go to the Burnt Region alone!” Kangassk crossed his hands on his chest, his lips set stubbornly, his eyes bright and angry again.

For a few seconds the only sound breaking the awkward silence was his furious breathing.

“You are not too bad as a fighter,” said Vlada out of nowhere.

“Beginner’s luck…” Kan exhaled with a hissing noise and scratched his bandaged head. “It was my first real fight, actually…”

“I’ll teach you. We’ll have time during the journey,” she promised.

Chapter 2. I wish I had a gun

Chargas step lightly on their soft, padded paws. Dry autumn leaves may rustle under their feet, their claws may click once in a while on a stony road, but when they walk on grass you can not hear them at all because your human hearing is not sharp enough for something so subtle.

Two charga riders followed a well-trodden trade road up to the crossroads where they turned north. The narrow path they chose was a remnant of the gold rush times. Back then, when thousands of people travelled that way, their heavy boots had worn the ground down to the rock. Like an old scar, the forgotten, overgrown path was still visible through the young green undergrowth. It didn’t snake around the hills and trees, it boldly went straight through every obstacle in its way, be it a meadow or a forest. Close to the obscure border of the Burnt Region the path emerged from under the grassy carpet of weeds and flowers and headed up, turning into a wide two-track road littered with innumerable shell cases that still glinted in the dust. Gold rush times were rough times…