funny among the bald heads of the descendants of Rami and Otiz, neither of which had hair on their body, brows and eyelashes excluded.
Local dlars’ walls were thick enough to keep the rooms cool even in the fiercest heat of the day and warm even in the fiercest cold the night, so everyone enjoyed the best rest possible. Speaking of walls: only Aldaren-Turin’s city wall was made of monolith; all the walls inside were plain aren concrete. The descendants of Rami and Otiz were no different from other Kuldaganian citizens in that matter.
Monolith interested Pai greatly. He wouldn’t shut up about the Wanderer’s “magic” that they used to manipulate the aspects of aren, the “magic” that worked in the unstable zone somehow without exploding. He tried to ask around, hoping to learn more, but had no luck. Definitely, a Kuldaganian city was no place to learn the Wanderers’ ways.
Pai found some consolation after the caravan had left Aldaren-Turin, though, for they now followed an ancient road paved with rune-inscribed stones enchanted to keep the sands away. Since they had stepped on that road, Pai did little but staring at those runes, absolutely fascinated by them.
For the rest of the team, the journey was as mirthless as before. Thankfully (most likely due to Irin’s constant vigil and excellent marksmanship) no bandits bothered the caravan. At some point, Ramayana Arnika-Vadro approached Irin and asked him to stay and work for her. He refused but did that so loudly and hastily that there were no doubts about how much he actually wanted to accept the offer.
When the lights of Border came into view, it was early evening with only a few stars in the sky. The collective light of the city’s oil lanterns and firefly jars made it look like a gate to the dark unknown beyond. A gate to the No Man’s Land.
Milian felt his heart sink at the sight. The image was more that it seemed. It felt like approaching a point of no return, an unseen border beyond which nothing would ever be the same. The boy could not explain the dread it was giving him and had no words to express the feeling; but the others must have felt something similar for they were all grim despite the comforts and curiosities the city could offer.
The team left the city the next morning on the backs of ten chargas that stepped so softly on the firm ground that replaced the shifty Kuldaganian sand beyond the border.
Chapter 9. Road to Tammar
Having killed a master, kill their apprentice as well, even if the apprentice is just a little child, for children grow, children learn, and children can hold a grudge. The child you’ve spared will become a warrior or a mage and come after you to avenge the master. Think of the future, always.
Assassin’s Handbook, part three
No Man’s Land. The territory of anomalies where each anomaly has a ‘heart’ that defines its centre and a circular border. Sometimes those borders cross, making the anomalous effects cancel or enhance each other but, more often, they barely touch.
Imagine a cook using a round biscuit-cutter on a thinly rolled layer of dough. Once the future biscuits have been all cut out of the layer, small, oddly shaped pieces of dough remain. This is what so-called ‘interstitions’ of the No Man’s Land look like, the territories between the neighbouring regions which don’t have overlapping borders. While still wild and unstable, the magic of interstitions is not explosive. Also, it is uniform, without any quirks an anomaly can produce.
Most interstitions are tiny, mere islands of peace surrounded by several anomalies, but some are long enough to be turned into trading routes. Brevir interstition is one of them. It looks like a trunk of a twisted tree on the map with all its tributaries and turns. Every tributary has a road of its own. Every road is a pulsing artery moving goods and people between the No Man’s Land settlements. While you’re following Brevir, you’re perfectly safe. There are villages and cities clinging to the road with lots of inns and markets; there are other traders to travel with. But once you’ve left Brevir, you’re on your own and the further you go, the more dangerous your journey becomes.
Chargas step softly. As graceful as cats, as powerful as bears, and as intelligent as human children, they are the best companions when it comes to travelling through dangerous lands. A grown-up man on a charga’s back looks like a fragile kid. And a kid riding a charga is the cutest thing ever.
Marin had just noticed one from afar.
His curiosity stirred, he opened a box of spyglasses he was going to sell in one of the big cities and grabbed one. Yes. The tiny figure on a young charga – almost a kitten – was a child. Some of his companions were children as well.
Children travelling through the No Man’s Land? That was worth investigating!
Marin expected no danger from the curious group. Firstly, his caravan was still on Brevir, which is safe, and secondly, the kids on the chargas were obviously Lifekeepers, members of a closed order with ancient traditions of peace and mercy. There was nothing to fear from meeting them.
The team on the chargas moved faster than Marin’s cart caravan, so the Lifekeepers caught up with it soon. The caravan’s taranders – elklike beasts of burden – were the only ones unhappy with that: taranders are afraid of chargas, their natural predators in the wild. As to the caravan’s people, everyone welcomed the young travellers.
“Safe journey to you!” Marin greeted them when the team reached his cart. “Where are you heading?”
“To Tammar,” answered their leader, a young man that looked like a pureblood Faizul.
“Oh!” exclaimed the merchant. “It’s dangerous to leave Brevir here. I wouldn’t do that, especially if I had children with me. Some gang might consider you easy prey… Would you like to join us instead? We’re going to Gurron. From there, it’s only a day’s journey to Tammar, on a safe road.”
“Thank you,” the Faizul nodded, so very politely, “but we are in a hurry. And we are not easy prey. Safe journey to you!”
The Lifekeepers passed Marin’s caravan and disappeared from view after taking the next turn on the road. Marin’s eyes followed them as they walked away. A flaxen-haired child riding a charga kitten was the last in their procession. The boy must have been about six years old but he wore a full Lifekeeper attire, complete with a real sword.
Seeing him had nearly made Marin tear up. No, Jarmin did nothing special; he was busy playing the wooden flute Orion had made for him and listening to Orion singing to the tune. But he reminded Marin of something, something precious, something lost forever…
For a moment, the merchant wanted nothing else but to abandon his caravan and join the Lifekeeper boys. The emotion was so sudden and strong that he felt drowning for a moment and gasped for air.
“Marin! Are you okay?” he heard his friend, Hasse, ask. Hasse had sped up his tarander to catch up with Marin’s cart and now was looking Marin in the eyes, worried.
“That boy…” the merchant muttered and shook his head. “His little sword is just like mine…”
“You have a sword?” Hasse raised his brows, surprised. He had never seen his friend wield a weapon.
Marin reached for his travelling chest where he kept his personal belongings and rummaged in it for a while. The object he was searching for turned out to be at the very bottom: a bundle of rags and papers with something long inside it. Marin unwrapped the thing and handed it to Hasse.
“Is it a toy?” the warrior asked with a smile.
“No. Unsheath it and see for yourself,” said Marin reproachfully. “It’s a katana made for a child. See? The hilt is thin enough so a small hand can grasp it.”
“No handguard,” noticed Hasse.
“I used to be a Lifekeeper. A long time ago.” Marin’s voice was deeply sad.
“Was? What happened?”
“Ah, my dear Hasse…” Marin laughed mirthlessly and put his old sword back into the chest. “Bad luck happened. I was