The assassin cursed. “Bloody hell. This is the last thing we need.”
“Jasper,” Camdyn cut in, voice harsh. “Enough. We can take care of this.”
“How?”
“She’ll ride with me,” Camdyn declared after a moment, picking her up as easily as if she were a child and cradling her in his arms.
“And where will we go?” Jasper’s tone was not unkind, but it was pragmatic. “There’s not a city in sight and we still have a journey to complete. Or have you forgotten?”
“I have not forgotten,” Camdyn answered stubbornly as he made his way over to his horse. “But we cannot hope to stop the cultists without Razja. As for where we’ll go... she mentioned there were goat herders living on this plain. Perhaps they can help?”
Jasper regarded him doubtfully but said nothing, letting the question hang in the air.
“You should leave me,” Razja said weakly after a moment. “You cannot afford... to be delayed.”
“Nonsense,” Camdyn answered with a forced smile. “The dragon priest is setting a leisurely pace. We have plenty of time.”
Razja knew it was a lie, but she did not protest. The fact of the matter was that she was scared. She hoped desperately that Camdyn was right about the goat herders, but she prepared herself for the worst. It’s a slim chance, she thought groggily to herself as the warrior gently set her on his horse. But... I suppose it could work... if the gods are kind.
After that, there was nothing more to be said. Together, they abandoned the spring and the corpse of the manticore and headed back for the road, hooves kicking up dust with every clopping step. Razja shared the saddle with Camdyn, resting her back against the big man’s chest as he held the reins of her own riderless mount. Jasper led the way, riding northeast and picking up the trail where they left off. The sun was high overhead, but Razja now felt cold, a chill clamminess overtaking her entire body.
She mechanically chewed on elderthorn root from her pack, the bitter plant keeping her awake as they travelled. Additionally, she cleaned the wound with a moist cloth and bound it with leaves of white sage, but it only served to delay the inevitable. The poison was in her, now. There was no way to draw it out.
Time seemed to change as they rode. It did not function as it should. Razja felt like she was in a haze, as if she was caught in a frozen limbo beneath a blazing sun. Camdyn and Jasper were mostly silent, but when they did talk, their voices sounded muffled, distant.
Don’t fall... asleep, she reminded herself, licking her dry, cracked lips. Stay... awake. Stay... strong.
It was a difficult effort. The bouncing of the horse lulled her, and the golden rays of the sun enveloped her like a warm blanket, battling with the cold that gripped her like a vice. Somehow, she managed to keep the darkness at bay. Before she knew it, it was almost nighttime, the sky turning into a beautiful hue of violent that deepened to purple and eventually black.
“Is it time... to rest?” She barely managed to get the words out.
“No rest,” Camdyn replied gently. He continued speaking, but she could not make sense of his words.
Jasper pulled his horse to a stop and began exchanging words with the mercenary. Their conversation was terse and at times, even harsh. Razja could not follow what they were saying, but they appeared to be arguing about something.
If I could have a dying wish... it would be that they can agree on something.
The thought made her smile for some odd reason. In her delirious state, she found her imminent demise strangely humorous, and even welcomed it.
All I want... is a good night’s sleep.
Camdyn jostled in his saddle, shaking her from her reverie. He began pointing and shouting excitedly, but that only made her feel more confused.
“Why... are you yelling?”
“I think we’ve found them, lass!” He chuckled merrily to himself. “Praise the gods, I think we’ve found them.”
The horses moved forward, and Razja rubbed her eyes in bewilderment. Found them? Why would Camdyn be so excited to have found the dragon cultists?
A short time later – a minute or an hour she did not know – they found themselves surrounded by tents made from animal hides. Tan-skinned people, more akin to Razja’s own people than the westerners, looked up at them with wide, dark eyes, whispering to one another in a language she did not understand.
Camdyn and Jasper spoke with a group of burly men carrying spears, gesturing and drawing their sympathetic eyes to her.
The next thing she knew, they were moving again, heading deeper into the camp.
A creeping darkness came over her vision, causing her to slump forward in the saddle. Strong hands kept her from falling off, but she was otherwise incapacitated. For a moment, it felt like she was being carried, and then she was laying down on a soft yet firm surface, a bed that made her want to sleep.
She groaned and fought with everything she had to stay awake.
In the darkness, Razja heard voices, and for a time it was as if she were listening to them from far away. She thought she recognized two of the speakers, but the third was a stranger to her, who spoke with an unfamiliar accent.
“She is dying.”
“Tell us something we don’t know, witch.”
“Jasper – mind your tongue! Forgive my companion, m’lady. He is not known for his manners.”
“It is no matter. I have come to expect such treatment from westlanders.”
“Please, you must help her. She has been poisoned by a manticore. She needs an antidote, medicine.”
“There is no medicine that can help this one.”
“I told you Camdyn, we are wasting our time here. She cannot help her.”
“I said there is no medicine that can help this one, westlander. Open your ears that you may hear.”
“So, you can help her, then?”
“Perhaps, but the price is high.”
“Name it – whatever it is, we will pay.”
Laughter.
“I do not speak of gold and silver, westlander. I speak of something much more precious.”
“Careful, sellsword. I know these types. The Wanderer spoke much the same way. Witchcraft is an untrustworthy kind of magic – what she is offering cannot be worth the cost.”
“Even if it means saving Razja’s life?”
Silence.
“There is one currency that is the same no matter what land you are in. It is the source of all magic and the only true thing we mortals have to exchange. Sacrifice. This is what it will cost you to save your friend.”
“And what would you have us sacrifice, witch?”
“What is it that is most precious resource in this life? Time.”
“Time? How much time?”
A brief pause, then, “Only time can be exchanged for time, westlander. This one is young, with many years ahead of her. A fair price would be ten years taken from each of your heads.”
“Let me get this straight – you want each of us to sacrifice ten years of our own lives and give them to her?”
“I do not want anything, westlander, save for you to leave my tribe and never return. If you want her to live, then this is the price you must pay.”
“Done. I will pay. Jasper? What say you?”
Another long silence.
“Well?”
“I’m thinking!”
“What is there to think about? After all we’ve been through together, you know that she would do the same for you. Besides, we need her to finish our quest.”
“There’s no other way, witch?”
“There’s no other way.”
An exasperated sigh. “Fine. Fine, I will do this, but she’s going to owe me for the years I’m going to lose.”
“No. Absolutely not. She must never know.”
Razja began to lose consciousness, the voices fading away as the darkness enveloped her. When she was about to give in, she felt a pain greater than anything she had ever experience pierce her to her cor
e. It burned her, hotter than the hottest of magical flames, and for an instant, it felt as if her soul was being torn away from her body.
She screamed, and she thought she could hear the screaming voices of two men as well, but she could not be sure. All she was sure of was that she had never experience pain like this before.
The agony lasted for seconds that stretched on for eternity, but when it was finally over, the darkness rushed in again, mercifully claiming her mind and replacing it with painless oblivion.
THE PUNGENT SMELL OF incense greeted Razja when she woke up, stirring from what felt like a deep and dreamless sleep. Her eyes flicked open, revealing a leathery tent ceiling above her head, and when she glanced around, she found herself laying on a woven mat surrounded by animal skulls and fragrant bundles of herbs.
Where am I? she wondered, pushing herself to a sitting position. What is this place?
The tent flap was partially open, revealing a camp of similar-looking tents sprawled out on the yellow grass of the plain. It appeared to be early morning, and men and women busied about the camp in homespun clothes, herding goats and sheep with the help of shaggy dogs.
The memories came back to her – the fight with the manticore, the poison, the witch and the conversation she had overheard. Was it all a dream? The spell... did Camdyn and Jasper really sacrifice ten years of their lives to save me? The thought deeply unnerved her. Turning, she looked at her wounded shoulder. The gash was bound in clean cloth and some sort of salve. It throbbed dully, but otherwise seemed to be on the mend. Aside from ravenous hunger, she felt perfectly healthy, her head clear and her body full of energy.
Razja picked herself off the sleeping mat and hurriedly dressed, finding her clothes folded neatly beside her. Her bracers were there as well, for which she was imminently grateful. She never felt fully whole without her bracers on.
When she was finished dressing, a bent old woman entered the tent, her wiry hair bound into a braid and her face a grim wrinkled mask.
“You’re up,” she said in a thickly accented voice. “This is good. It means you can finally leave.”
“Who are you?” Razja asked warily.
“My people call me the Wise Woman, but that is no concern of yours.” She spoke with a clipped, disapproving tone, her eyes like two flints set into deep sockets. “You have been healed, and now you and your friends can go.”
“My friends?” Razja perked up. “Do you know where my friends are?”
The Wise Woman shuffled around the tent and began riffling through various pouches on the floor. “On the edge of camp, seeing to your horses. I told them to wait for you there.”
Razja bowed her head. “Thank you for healing me. You are very kind.”
“Bah.” The Wise Woman spat on the floor at her feet. “Kindness had nothing to do with it. People come to me with problems and I fix them, even westlanders and Kaarnish sorceresses like yourself. Now, be gone!”
Razja straightened and adopted a cool expression. Fine, she thought, turning and leaving the musty tent behind. She always heard that the goat herders of the Eternal Plains hated the desert people of Kaarna, but she had never had proof. Now, she did.
Still, it is great to be alive.
She stepped out into the sun and took a deep breath of air. It was already turning hot, but she did not care. After the events of the previous day, she was just glad to be walking around at all.
The people of the camp stared at her as she wound her way through the tents, but she ignored them, instead focusing on how remarkably well she felt. Whatever that witch did, it worked well. Aside from my shoulder, I feel better than I did a week ago!
True to the old woman’s words, she found the sellsword and the assassin waiting for her on the edge of camp. Their horses were grazing in the field and their bedrolls were stretched out on the open ground.
Camdyn leapt to his feet as soon as he saw her, racing over to her with wide eyes.
“Razja! Are you all right? The Wise Woman said you’d be up today, but I did not think it would be so soon.”
She smiled at him, noting that grim-looking Jasper was making his way over as well. “I feel fine, thank you. And how are you?”
“I’ve been better,” Jasper said bluntly, and Camdyn shot him a look.
“We’re great,” the big warrior replied, stone face cracking into a smile. “We are just happy to see you up and moving. You gave us quite a scare yesterday.”
She took a moment to examine her two companions. Camdyn, his woolen tunic already streaked with sweat, stood like a mountain, muscled body covered in thick dark hair and white teeth shining brightly in the light of the rising sun. Jasper stood beside him, his rich traveling clothes as immaculate as ever and his brown hair cropped short. He looked particularly dour this morning, but she sensed a softness when her eyes met his, a tenderness that had not existed when they first met.
As she looked at them, she felt something stirring within her, a feeling of kinship that she had not felt since before going to the Tower of Amun’Dar. She suddenly felt her chest swelling with emotion.
“Listen,” she said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “I remember you two talking with the Wise Woman last night. The things you said...”
Camdyn held up a calloused hand. “Don’t need to mention it, Razja. Jasper and I merely did what we had to so you’d come back to us.”
Jasper nodded, but did not say anything.
“Be that as it may,” she answered, brushing a windblown strand of hair out of her face, “I wanted to thank you. Truly. You saved my life at no small expense to yourselves. I owe you a debt I doubt I’ll ever be able to repay.”
Jasper smirked and opened his mouth to respond, but at a look from Camdyn, he quickly deflated. Instead of whatever snarky thing he had been planning to say, he said, “Don’t mention it, sorceress.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Camdyn answered with a nod.
Tears sprang into Razja’s eyes, and she could not suppress her smile even if she wanted to. She pulled each of them close in a warm embrace, then whispered, “When we started this journey, you were strangers. Now, you are my closest friends. I will not forget this, I swear it.”
Camdyn patted her on the back. “Of course, lass. We know that.”
Jasper stepped back and gruffly cleared his throat. “Well, we should probably get back on the road. The dragon priest has gained half a day on us.”
“The goat men wouldn’t trade with us,” Camdyn explained, leading her over to the horses, “but we still have our supplies. You must be hungry.”
Razja smiled at him. “Famished.”
With that, they ate a cold breakfast of jerky and biscuits then broke down their meager camp, mounting up and leaving the folk of the plains behind. The three were solemn yet strangely edified, changed by the events that occurred over the last day. No longer were they strangers, travelers from different parts of Thel’Varden. From this day on they were companions in word and in deed. As they rode toward the trail leading ever northward, one word above all seemed to resonate through the air: friends.
It gave Razja strength, knowing what laid ahead.
Chapter Nineteen
The Deadlands Afar was a vast, unclaimed wasteland. It was a sprawling and unforgiving realm that no kingdom had ever sought to settle along the northernmost expanse of the continent.
Razja, Jasper and Camdyn sat atop a rocky ridge, looking over the poisoned land that seemed to stretch out endlessly before them. Stone-covered hills rose up from thorn-choked valleys, giving variance to the scene and breaking up the sea of noxious fog that seemed to rise up from the blighted ground. Only stunted shrubs grew here, and they were gnarled, tortured things with red spikes that Razja suspected were poisonous.
“And I thought the Eternal Plains were uninhabitable,” Jasper mused from atop his horse. “This place looks like something out of a nightmare.”
“The history keepers say this was once the home of a great emp
ire,” Razja explained, trying not to inhale the fumes through her nose. “Apparently, they were a very wicked people, dabbling in all sorts of forbidden magics. The gods destroyed the empire and cursed the ground, ensuring that no one would ever be able to live here again. It’s a rather sad story.”
“Sad, and bloody repulsive,” Jasper muttered, covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief to block out the smell.
“Brimstone,” Camdyn said, sniffing the air. “We should be wary. Who knows what sort of foul creatures inhabit this land.”
For a time, they merely waited on the ridge, their apprehension almost palpable. No one wanted to delve into the Deadlands, especially considering the danger they would soon face.
An immense crater marred the land several miles away from where they rested, forming a great basin in the earth that appeared to bleed smoke. The trail of the dragon priest’s entourage led right to it, descending into its depths by way of a narrow, overgrown foot path.
“Once we enter that pit, there’s no coming back,” Jasper mused.
Razja gave him an odd look. “We passed the point of no return long ago, Jasper Aurelio. The only way is forward.”
He stared at her for a moment before finally nodding his head in agreement. “Lead the way, then.”
She nudged her horse forward, descending into the craggy lowlands beneath the ridge. The others followed right behind her, their hands never straying far from their weapons.
Thorn bushes and rocks lurked amid the fog surrounding them, grasping at their path with jagged, menacing fingers. The very land seemed to threaten them, and for a moment, Razja felt the need to flee far away. Fortunately, she managed to quell her fears and no monsters accosted them on their way.
Even so, the road was treacherous, and it took them more than an hour to reach the brimstone pit.
When their horses reached the rim of the crater, they began to whinny and shy away from the path. Feet stamping, eyes rolling, all three refused to carry them the rest of the way.
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