Tales of
Erogenia
Episode 1: The Snow
Princess
Chapter 8:
The
Desert
It was as if she was standing
in front of the weaponsmith’s forge.
The heat washed over her with an intensity Zenaria had never imagined
possible. Her throat was already
dry with thirst and she looked longingly at the waterskin that hung from
the bow of her elaborate saddle.
She dared not touch it; Tren had told her to drink only when he did
and it was only midmorning.
She glanced at the sun;
hardly believing that it was still fairly low in the
sky. Just a few camel strides
ahead of her Tren rocked in the saddle in time to his mount’s bizarre
gait. It was a motion that she
found most unsettling, but Tren seemed almost a part of his bad-tempered
steed. Since his back was to
her she considered stealing a swallow of water, but her pride would not let
her do it. If he could endure
the awful thirst then so could she.
They were two days into
the desert proper and with every step the heat seemed to
increase. Gone was the relative
coolness of the grasslands and gone also was the covering of
vegetation. The desert surface
supported only scattered patches of grasses and thorn bushes and even
Zenaria’s keen senses had yet to spot any animal
life. More to the point, however,
was her ability to cope with the heat.
She wore her cloak as a
head-covering, but it helped only a
little. The desert air seemed
to suck the moisture from her body, leaving her parched and desperate for
water. Even her perspiration
vanished before it had a chance to bead on her
skin. How Tren managed to survive
the ordeal was something she simply did not comprehend.
The landscape about her
consisted of a gravely surface interspersed with gigantic
boulders. They wound their way
though them following what appeared to be a well-worn path although why anyone
would want to come to such an inhospitable inferno she had no
idea. For that matter she had
no idea why Tren had chosen to enter the
desert. He could be maddeningly
uncommunicative when he wasn’t infuriating her with his opinionated
comments.
They moved between two massive
boulders, the momentary shade giving Zenaria an almost overwhelming urge
to scramble off her camel and spend the rest of the day
there. Suddenly Tren stopped
and with practiced ease swung out of the
saddle. “We will stop here
for a water break and a bite to eat.”
Zenaria gave a sigh of
relief. Any time off the back
of the camel was time well spent as far as she was
concerned. Her thighs felt as
if she had entertained all of the warriors in her village or so she supposed,
and the other areas of her nether regions were so badly bruised she doubted
that she would ever be able to sit properly again.
Tren squatted near the base
of one of the rock monoliths and took out a small bundle of made of woven
grasses. “These are common
in the desert. They are called
dates. And these,” he continued,
taking out another package, “are figs.”
Zenaria regarded the brownish
offerings dubiously. She grown
used to the continual diet of rice, which Tren consumed at almost every meal,
along with the mouth burning spices he stirred into
it. The Sandakar slavers had
served similar fare, but this was something
new. Tentatively she took a bite
of the dried fruit.
“Mmm,” she
said. “I like
these. How can such sweet fruit
grow in such inhospitable surroundings?”
“You will soon see,”
Tren replied. “We will reach
the oasis of Uhra Don in five days.”
“And what is there?”
she asked. She had learned that
an oasis was a place in the desert with
water. After just two days in
the arid wastes it was something she found hard to
believe.
“Perhaps what I
seek,” he answered.
“Your sister?”
Zenaria asked.
“My sister.” Tren
confirmed.
“I know nothing about
you,” Zenaria commented.
“You use a bow with the skill of a warrior of the Snow
Leopard. You travel alone and
hate the Sandakar. You are a
friend the Zuni, who are friends to no
other. Why do you travel the
wasteland in search of your sister?
What happened to her?”
“That is something
I usually discuss with no one. I
tolerate your presence only because you have shown me you can
fight. Remember it was you who
forced herself on me.”
Zenaria felt an angry retort
rising to her lips, but she clamped her jaw and kept her anger in
check. Instead she spoke
calmly. “And how would you
have fared against the moaan had I not been there to help
you? Could you have killed all
six alone?”
Tren did not reply and Zenaria
waited. Finally he turned his
dark, almond eyes on her.
“Perhaps I could have, but you have a
point. You have endured much
better than I thought possible, and in spite of your stubborn refusal to
dress properly you are still alive.”
“I am not ashamed of
my body. No warrior of the Snow
Leopard would hide what she is in folds of cloth as you
do.”
“I don’t
suppose,” Tren replied, calmly “that it ever occurred to you that
I dress like this for a reason more practical than the hiding of my
body. Feel free to dress like
a barbarian princess if you wish, but I doubt that you will last much more
than another day in the desert.”
Tren’s last point struck
home. Even in the shade of the
enormous boulders the heat drained the energy and moisture from her
body. The dried fruit had dealt
with her hunger, but the small swallow of water had done little to assuage
her thirst. “I will wear
your confining garments,” she said slowly, “if that is what it
takes to please you.”
“Pleasing me is not
the point,” Tren said as he loosened the straps on one of the packs
attached to his saddle.
“Keeping you alive is.”
He pulled out a dark robe and tossed it toward
her. “I think it will
fit. I took it off the body of
the tallest of the slavers.”
“So now I am to wear
the clothes of a dead man,” Zenaria thought, but she kept it to herself
and removing her weapons, grudgingly pulled the robe over her
head.
To her surprise, the heavy
woollen garment was not suffocatingly
hot. Instead its thick material
seemed to insulate her from the heat.
Emulating Tren, she belted her sword and knife on the outside of the
robe. “This just might
work,” she muttered. “I
feel much better.”
“We have dallied long
enough,” Tren said. “It
is time to be on our way. The
less time we spend in this infernal wasteland the
better.” Without waiting
for a reply he commanded his camel to kneel and with practiced eased vaulted
into the saddle. Zenaria, less
skilled in camel-handling had to make do with scrabbling up the side of her
mount. She made it, in spite
of being impeded by the long robe she now
wore.
“Wonderful,” she
thought. “Now that I am
weighed down by these cumbersome garments I am rendered helpless in
battle.” However, she had
no intention of removing the robes in the short
term. As she rode into the sunlight
she no longer felt the life being drained from
her. She would tolerate the clothing
for now, but she resolved to get rid of it as soon as the ordeal of the desert
was over.
Tren said nothing, but nodded
approvingly as she moved alongside him.
Zenaria was still hot and thirsty, but she no longer feared that she
would not last out the day. Perhaps
Tren did know something after all.
They rode in silence for
an hour and then Tren spoke.
“I know that you are not inclined to listen, but there are things
you should be aware of if you are to survive the
desert. The first is that in
this land things are not always what they
appear. What may look like water
may simply be the heat shimmering in the
distance. Such an apparition
is called a mirage. Second, although
the land may appear devoid of life there are some very dangerous creatures
in it, both plant and animal. Avoid
anything you do not understand.
Finally, follow me exactly.
There are areas of the desert where the sands suck down anything that
crosses them. If I signal to
follow me in single file please do it.”
Unaccustomed as she was
to following orders, especially those given by someone who was not a member
of her tribe, Zenaria did not argue.
Something told her that her spirit quest was bound to Tren and she
was determined to accompany him until it was
fulfilled. She kept her eyes
open, searching for the mysterious dangers he had spoken of, but for the
most part all she saw was an unbroken wasteland of broken stone and
boulders.
Four days into the desert
the terrain changed and Zenaria saw the true value of the
camels. They entered a sea of
sand. As far as the eye could
see stretched wind-blown dunes of enormous
size. Zenaria had traveled through
great mountains, but she had never seen anything like
this. The entire world had turned
to sand. It was awe inspiring,
beautiful, and a little frightening.
How could they possible cross such an inhospitable
landscape? It seemed almost certain
that the camels would sink out of sight as they attempted to cross the sand
barrier. However, to her pleasant
surprise the camels did not even break stride as they entered the
dunes. Instead they seemed to
float on top of the sand, climbing to the top of the first dune without apparent
effort. It was an eye-opening
revelation and one that filed Zenaria with more than a little admiration
for Tren and the stubborn animal she
rode. She had to admit her mysterious
rescuer seemed prepared for every eventuality.
They moved for two days
through the dunes without incident.
But on the third day Tren halted his camel on top of a gigantic dune
and peered into the distance.
“Do you see it?” he asked.
“I see a cloud,”
Zenaria replied. “Nothing
more.”
“It is indeed a
cloud,” Tren said. “But
it is a cloud that brings death. We
must find shelter and quickly if we are not to be buried
alive.”
Unfortunately, the only
shelter to be found in the vast ocean of sand was the very dune they were
on. Tren guided his camel to
the base, and then dismounting, pulled the camel to its
knees. He ordered Zenaria to
do the same, and then the two of them stretched their tent over the camels,
weighting the corners with sand. By
this time a strong wind was blowing, sending stinging granules of sand flying
through the air. Zenaria followed
Tren into the tent and closed the flap behind
her. “Now what?” Zenaria
asked as she eased herself into the tiny space next to
Tren.
“Now we wait,”
Tren answered. “And you
might consider praying to some of your gods.”
There was a low thrumming
in the distance while at the same time the sound of the wind outside the
tent increased until the fabric that sheltered them began to vibrate like
a lute string. And then, with
a sound like the roaring of a thousand snow leopards, the storm swept over
them. For a few seconds Zenaria
thought she might go deaf. She
huddled in the tent, feeling its thin fabric sag as the weight of sand piling
against it pushed it down on them.
“We’re going to be crushed,” she gasped, clawing at
the opening to the tent.
With surprising strength
Tren pulled her back down.
“Sit still,” he growled.
“Better to take your chances in here than be flayed alive out
there. The sand will strip the
flesh from your body before you go twenty steps.”
Shamed, Zenaria crouched
next to Tren. She was glad that
in the darkness of the tent, Tren could not see her
chagrin. A Snow Leopard warrior
did not panic, but that was exactly what she had
done. She calmed herself, bringing
her breathing and emotions under control, but she seethed with anger directed
at herself for once again acting like a fool in front of
Tren. So far he had saved her
life at least three times. Once
when rescuing her from the slavers; again when showing how protect her northern
skin from the fierce desert sun; and now again when he had stopped her from
fleeing in panic into certain death.
She sat back, mortified,
her body pressed close to Tren’s.
Her spirit quest was not going the way it should
be. Instead of achieving
self-fulfilment she seemed to be going even further into Tren’s
debt. It was enough to make her
consider returning to her tribe, but the stubborn streak that was ever her
most dominant trait came to the fore.
“I’ll see this through,” she muttered, “if it
is the last thing I do.”
“Get some sleep,”
Tren suggested. “The storm
is likely to last for hours.
I’ll make sure we don’t get buried
alive.”
Zenaria did not
argue. There was nothing better
to do and she was certainly not going
anywhere. Snuggling down as best
she could she closed her eyes and let the accumulated exhaustion of the last
few days wash over her.
In her dreams she watched
as the Zuni dancer whirled in front of Tren, her translucent veils revealing
every nuance of her sensuous body.
Slowly she drifted closer until she hovered just before the fire;
so close that she could see the beads of sweat on the dancer’s dusky
body. A pang of jealousy stabbed
through her and then she was moving and merging with the
dancer. Suddenly The Zuni dancer
was gone and she was pirouetting in front of Tren, dressed as the dancer
had been in garments that were so diaphanous that they hid nothing of her
supple beauty. Faster and faster
she spun before Tren, her hair streaming out from her body and droplets of
sweat sprinkling the fire as she passed so close to the flames she threatened
to ignite her costume. Her breathing
came fast, her large and perfect breasts quivering to the rhythm of the dance
and then Tren was reaching for her, taking her arm and
…
“Wake up, the storm
is over.”
“Wha…,” Zenaria
muttered. She blinked the sleep
out of her eyes.
“I said the storm is
over,” Tren repeated.
“It is time to dig ourselves out and tend to the
camels.”
“I… I was having
a dream,” stammered Zenaria, her sleep-confused brain attempting to
sort things out.
“I thought as much,”
Tren answered as he yanked at the tent
flap. “You were talking
in your sleep.”
“What…Did I say
anything?” she gasped.
“It was more like
moaning,” Tren answered as he poked his head through the opening he
had made. “Nothing I could
really understand.” He got
to his feet and pushed through the opening, allowing a cascade of sand to
enter the shelter.
“Moaning,” Zenaria
muttered. “What in the name
of the gods is happening to me?”
She followed Tren out of
the tent. To her amazement the
camels stood just a few paces away, apparently no worse the wear for having
endured the ordeal of the sandstorm.
They brayed a greeting as Zenaria moved toward
them. She patted her camel on
the neck. “Good girl,
Alshee,” she murmured. Like
all Erogenians she had a close connection with all animals; some more than
others and she was becoming quite fond of the stalwart beast that conveyed
her so effortlessly across the desert landscape in spite of the fact that
it made her so sore between the legs she could hardly
move. She had named it after
a favourite hunting dog she once had.
Tren looked at
her. With most of his face shielded
as usual it was hard to determine what he was thinking, but she thought she
noted a look of approval in his eyes.
It took a few minutes to
dig out their possessions and reload the
camels. Then once again they
were on their way. It was near
evening and Zenaria looked questioning at
Tren. He seemed to guess her
thoughts. “We will travel
through part of the evening. Our
water supply will not allow us to miss a day’s travel and it will be
cooler in any case.”
Zenaria
nodded. It made more sense to
travel at night than during the day provided that there was no need of
landmarks. However, she suspected
that like her, Tren could find his way by using the stars as
beacons.
They stopped sometime after
“Scorpions,” Tren
answered, without being asked.
“They hide during the day and hunt at
night. I do not know what makes
them glow.”
Before Tren could stop her
Zenaria stooped and came up with a glowing
arachnid.
“Wait, such creatures
are deadly poisonous,” Tren
exclaimed.
“I sense no danger,”
Zenaria replied, allowing the iridescent scorpion to run up her hand and
then turning it to keep the animal from
falling. I am not its prey; I
am far too large.”
Tren looked on
impassively. “Do you normally
play with such venomous creatures?”
Zenaria
smiled.
“Erogenians are highly tuned to
nature. I felt there was no danger
in such a beautiful creature provided I did not provoke
it.” She lowered her hand,
allowing the scorpion to resume its way across the
sand.
“I am not sure whether
I should be impressed or frightened,” Tren observed.
“Surly nothing frightens
you,” Zenaria replied.
“You are beginning
to. It might be wise if you were
a little less trusting. Where
we go tomorrow is a place fraught with danger.”
Zenaria frowned, but turned
her head away so Tren would not see her
expression. It seemed that her
mysterious rescuer was always able to find fault with something she
did. She wondered what she had
to do to gain his approval. Perhaps
she needed to find another three moaan to
kill. However, she hid her annoyance
and helped set up camp.
They ate a quick
meal. Tren planned to start early
the next day to avoid as much of the desert heat as
possible. All the same he hinted
that where they were going would be a severe test of their
endurance. Zenaria wondered what
could be much worse than the desert inferno they had already been
through.
As Tren had promised they
awoke early and started out before dawn.
They reached the end of the dunes just at sunrise and Zenaria got
a good look at what awaited them.
They stood at the edge of a
plateau. Spread out below them
was a desert wasteland that surpassed in its arid intensity anything she
had yet seen. There was not the
slightest sign of life or water and the heat waves rippled as they rose from
the barren landscape.
“What is down there?”
Zenaria asked, wondering why Tren had not chosen a less hostile
route.
“The backdoor to Uhra
Don. It is one of the most heavily
populated oases in the desert. If
we were to enter by the main trade route we would almost certainly be seen,
however few know of this entrance and fewer still would dare
it.”
“And it is at Uhra
Don that you hope to find your sister?” Zenaria
asked.
“If she is still
alive,” replied Tren.
“Why will you not tell
me of her?” Zenaria asked.
“It is not that I
cannot,” Tren replied.
“It is simply that I may
not.” With that enigmatic
reply he urged his camel forward onto a narrow trail that wound down from
the plateau. Sighing in frustration
Zenaria followed. Sooner or later
she would find out Tren’s secret and perhaps when she did she would
fulfill her spirit quest.
If Zenaria had thought it
was hot before the descent into the valley proved her
wrong. The temperature rose steadily
as they zigzagged their way down a mountain path so narrow she was surprised
the camels could navigate it, but Tren had chosen well and the sure-footed
beasts made not a single misstep.
Halfway down the trail widened enough for Tren to rein in his camel
and allow Zenaria to move alongside.
“Here, you will need these,” he said, holding out an odd-looking
piece of equipment. It consisted
of two pieces of carved wood shaped like large eyes and connected by a leather
thong.
“What am I to do with
this,” Zenaria asked.
“Cover your eyes,”
Tren answered demonstrating with an identical
device. He slipped it over his
head so that the two pieces of carved wood covered his
eyes. It was then that Zenaria
noticed each piece of wood was pierced with a tiny hole enabling the wearer
limited vision.
“Ahh!” exclaimed
Zenaria. “We have such things
as this for protection against the glare of the
snow.”
Tren
nodded. “The floor of the
valley is covered with salt crystals.
Anyone not wearing protective goggles will go
blind.”
Zenaria saw that it was
so. The floor of the valley reflected
the sunlight with a glaring intensity that was beyond the ability of the
charcoal she and Tren applied under their eyes each day before setting
out. Quickly she copied Tren
and with a nod of satisfaction he kicked his camel into motion once
more.
For some reason the slight
sign of approval pleased Zenaria more than she would have liked to
admit. Smiling to herself she
followed Tren into the burning inferno of the valley
floor.
If she had thought the desert
heat extreme before Zenaria realized that she had been sadly
mistaken. Crossing the salt-strewn
wasteland was like being inside a gigantic
oven. Even the protective robes
could not prevent the moisture from being sucked from her
body. To compound her discomfort
an alkaline wind blew constantly, stirring up clouds of sand and filling
her nostrils with acrid dust.
She drew her hood tight
about her face and hunched down in the
saddle. Her mind turned to thoughts
of the snow-capped peaks of her mountain
homeland. Although she had left
the cool of the snow leopard’s forest only a few weeks ago the memory
seemed almost like a dream. It
seemed impossible that there could be two places on the surface of
Panjiia
that were so different. There
seemed only one consoling element to crossing the furnace-like landscape
and that was that there could not possibly be any living creature brave enough
to live in such a hideous environment.
Or at least none that were large enough to threaten her and
Tren.
Ahead of her one of the
salt deposits rippled in the heat.
Instinctively she reached for her sword, although the bow might have
been a better choice. However,
it was sitting unstrung in its quiver on the side of the camel and the sword
came readily to her hand. Next
to her, Tren shouted something incoherent and swerved his camel to the
side. It would have been better
if Zenaria had done the same. If
she had Alshee might have lived.
The thing that surged up
from the salt deposit resembled a huge spider except that it had ten legs
instead of eight and sported a head armed with sabre-like pincers on the
end of a stalk-like neck. It
was followed by at least a dozen more surging toward her at an astonishing
speed.
Alshee made a noise somewhere
between a grunt and a scream as the first of the yard- wide creatures launched
itself onto her, the huge sword-like pincers sinking into the camel’s
neck. Zenaria’s sword ripped
through the air taking off the creature’s head and two of its legs,
but it was too late to save her trusted
steed. The camel lurched
spasmodically and with a final bellow its legs buckled, pitching Zenaria
head first toward the desert surface.
Zenaria’s warrior reflexes
took over. As she fell she curled
her body, executing a perfect somersault and landing on her
feet. She was just in time to
engage three more of the huge spiders.
Her sword described an arc, decapitating two of the attacking
monsters. A foul greenish ichor
spurted forth which emitted a stench that caused Zenaria to
gag. It was all she could do
to step back and evade the intended bite of the third
monster. The thing lunged at
her, intent on getting its huge pincers into her and Zenaria, her sword out
of play, drew her knife as she stepped back and thrust the foot-long blade
into the creature’s eye. The
monster let out a hiss of pain and lurched back, but there were half a dozen
more to take its place. She swung
her sword again, cutting off both pincers of the spider-monster closest too
her and then there was the rapid twang of Tren’s bow from behind
her. He shot so quickly that
three more of the monsters went down in just seconds, giving Zenaria the
time and space to recover. There
were five of the spider-beasts left and Zenaria stepped toward them before
they had time to leap at her. The
tactic seemed to confuse the monsters; no doubt they expected their prey
to retreat, not attack. Zenaria
cut down two more and Tren’s bow accounted for the
rest. She stood panting in
exhilaration and triumph, too exhausted in the stifling heat to utter her
battle cry.
Tren was suddenly beside
her. “Are you alright?”
he asked. “The bite of a
lion-spider is deadly poison.”
“I’m alright,”
Zenaria replied. “Why did
you not warn me of such danger? I
might have been able to save
Alshee.”
“I did not anticipate
the presence of the lion-spiders.
There were none here the last time I passed
through.” Tren sounded almost
apologetic.
Zenaria stared sadly at
her dead camel. Alshee had not
been the most congenial of companions, but a bond of sorts had developed
between her and the desert steed.
“Why did we come this way?
It has little to recommend it.”
Tren
sighed. “I suppose now that
you have followed me this far I owe you something of an
explanation.” While he spoke
he pulled Zenaria’s gear from the dead
camel. “We cannot take all
of this. Sort though it and while
you do I will tell you a bit about myself.”
Zenaria began to pull items
from her pack while Tren spoke. She
tried to hide her excitement. But the eager expression on her face must have
given her away.
“I see you have been
waiting for this,” Tren said.
“I can’t say that I blame
you. I have not been at all helpful
in supplying details of my life, but you see mystery is part of what I
am. I am a member of a desert
people related to the Sandakar, but one who have managed to maintain their
independence. We are called the
Beni Sidra and we have
survived by taking only the most extreme of measures, that of becoming a
society of assassins. Only by
making ourselves feared and resorting to complete secrecy could we hope to
prevent the Sandakar from enslaving us.
In that sense we have succeeded, but it is a precarious existence
and one fraught with danger.”
“But where do you
live?” Zenaria interrupted.
“Where is your
homeland?”
“The Sandakar destroyed
our homeland two centuries ago.
Since that time we have lived among them, hiring ourselves out to
those who defeated us, but waiting for the time when we may once again drive
the conquerors from our homeland.
We are sworn to secrecy. Few
outside the order know of our
existence.”
Zenaria could not help feeling
somewhat flattered at being taken into Tren’s
confidence. It was now clear
to her why he had been so secretive, but there was one thing that still nagged
at her. “And what of your
sister? Why do you seek
her?”
“The
Beni
Sidra are pledged to a partner at
birth. My partner was special
in that we were born just minutes apart.
My sister and I were trained from infancy to work with one another
and honour bound to uphold the code of
assassins. I failed in that pledge
in that I allowed my sister to be taken by the Sandakar and did not fulfill
the most sacred of my vows.”
Tren finished speaking and
took the items Zenaria had selected from her
saddlebags. Zenaria looked at
him waiting for him to finish, but he said nothing and instead climbed into
the saddle.
“You cannot leave it
there,” Zenaria protested, planting her hands on her
hips. “What was this most
sacred vow?”
“To ensure that I take
her life rather than let her be taken
prisoner.” He held out his
hand, motioning that Zenaria was to join him on his
mount.
She stared at
him. “You would kill your
own sister?”
“As she would kill
me,” Tren replied. “Now
stop talking and get up behind me.
We must get out of the salt flats before
night.”
Zenaria scrambled into the
saddle. Tren shifted his position,
making way for her in front of him.
It felt strange with his body pressed against hers even through the
thick robes that both of them wore.
She had vowed never to let a man get this close to her without being
defeated in battle and here she was riding a camel across the most forsaken
piece of landscape she had ever seen with his arms holding her just below
her breasts. It gave her a warm
feeling in a place where she did not want a warm
feeling. After all, Tren was
a man who had just told her he was sworn to kill his
sister. That went against everything
an Erogenian warrior stood for. On
the other hand it was obvious that Tren’s concept of honour was quite
different from hers or else he would never have entered into such an
agreement. Still, having his
arms about her was not altogether unpleasant.
“Wake up,
barbarian.” Tren’s
voice interrupted her thoughts.
“I need you alert.”
“I wasn’t
asleep,” Zenaria replied.
“No, but you were becoming
a bit too comfortable. I thought
after the spider incident you would realize that the desert is not the safest
of places.”
“Tell me again why
we are going this way. Surely
there must be safer and less desolate routes to Uhra
Don.”
“I never told you in
the first place, but since you ask I think it should be
obvious. The Sandakar are not
likely to welcome one who has killed so many of
them. This way is much more
dangerous, but it is one that is unknown to the
Sandakar.”
The salt flats seemed to
stretch out endlessly before them, its far side lost in the waves of heat
rising from the desert floor. With
two riders on a single camel they went much more slowly now and Zenaria began
to wonder if they would make it.
Tren was his usual imperturbable self and if Zenaria had not felt
her body pressed against his she would not even have known he was
there. After awhile, however,
it became obvious that the camel was having
trouble. It began to breathe
heavily and weave from side to side.
Finally Tren brought it to a halt and
dismounted. “We go on foot
from here,” he stated.
“Take what possessions you can
carry. We’ll eat now and
leave the rest of the food.”
Zenaria didn’t need
to ask after the water. She knew
that there was barely enough for two swallows
each. They ate what they could
of the remaining food, and as Tren suggested left the
rest. She trusted that there
was probably food where they were going and she hoped, water as
well. She took her bow and quiver
of arrows as well as a few of the items they would need for
camping. Tren took the
rest.
“Take one swallow of
water. No
more. Then we
walk.” Zenaria did as Tren
instructed, leaving a single swallow in her
waterskin. She resisted the
temptation to drink it all and throw the empty skin away, knowing full well
she would regret it in the future.
Tren walked and Zenaria
followed. Every now and then
she stopped and checked their tracks, which were quite visible stretching
out behind them. Somehow Tren
was walking in a straight line, though how he did it she had no
idea. He seemed to be heading
into a featureless desert landscape and when Zenaria looked ahead all she
saw were the distorted waves of heat rising from the desert
floor.
They trudged on, Tren leading
and Zenaria following. In this
at least she was confident she could keep
up. She was used to
walking. It was riding camels
and horses that caused her problems.
If the stifling heat had
been bad before, now it was horrendous, rising from the shimmering surface
of the salt flats with such intensity that she could feel it burning through
her boots. She was glad of their
quality. Anything less and she
would not have been able to continue.
However, the heat slowly began to wear her
down. She longed to finish the
last of the water, but Tren marched ahead of her, seemingly
inexhaustible. She would not
drink until he did and would not ask for rest until he suggested
it.
She had no idea how long
they went on this way. Only that
the longer they walked the hotter it seemed to
get. She knew that this did not
make sense, as the desert heat peaked sometime in the late afternoon and
she could see that the sun was now low on the
horizon. In an hour or so it
would be dark and they could walk in the relative coolness of the evening,
provided them was such as thing as coolness in this desert
inferno.
Tren suddenly
stopped. “We will drink
the last of the water. We are
almost there, but must be careful.
There are things that are active at night that are not there during
the day.”
Zenaria nodded and took
her last swallow. It did not
come close to quenching her thirst, instead it seemed to create a desire
for more. But there was no more
and Zenaria slung her empty waterskin over her shoulder and followed Tren
as he began to walk again.
She took one look behind
her and gave a little start.
“The camel follows,” she said.”
“Yes,” Tren
answered. “If need be we
can kill it and take what water it still has within
it. But I hope to have it alive
when we reach Uhra Don.”
Zenaria was about to nod
when something touched her ankle.
Her sword was in her hand before she even finished turning, but what
she saw surprised her. The touch
had felt like that of a snake, but instead she saw only a thick plant-like
tendril stretching out toward her.
“How did I miss that?”
she wondered. She began to turn
to Tren to call his attention to the presence of something green in the desert,
when the tendril suddenly rose and struck at her like an
adder.
“Aaah! She
cried. The touch stung like fire
as the tendril, with incredible strength, wound itself about her ankle and
began to drag her from the path.
And then another tendril snaked toward her and another, and she saw
that she was being pulled toward an entire nest of
them.
Her sword flashed out, slicing
through the tendril with an audible thunk that indicated that it was not
animal, but plant. However, even
as the tendril fell away a dozen others reached for
her. She cut again with her sword,
cleaving half a dozen of the tendrils, but several got through catching her
ankles and wrapping around her legs just above the
knees. Excruciating pain shot
through her. It was so intense
that it took her breath away, leaving her unable to even
scream. Her legs buckled even
as she fought to keep her footing.
Somehow she managed one more cut with her sword, severing several
more tendrils and then she was on her knees and being dragged ever closer
to the nest of writhing tendrils.
Her waist was encircled and then her wrists and
arms. Each touch of the tendrils
sent burning waves of pain through her and her sword fell from paralyzed
fingers and another tendril, this one as thick as her arm encircled her torso,
pinning both arms to her sides and wrapping itself around her
chest. Pain of an unbelievable
intensity surged thorough her, but still she could not scream and then she
was being dragged directly into the nest.
Tendrils rose around her
and she saw before her a gaping maw about the width of her
shoulders. She was being drawn
directly into it and then suddenly Tren was there, cutting with both
swords. Focused on her, the bizarre
plant-creature fell before his attack severed tendrils falling everywhere
to writhe like snakes upon the desert
sand. Zenaria fell forward, but
she felt something catch her hair and jerk her sharply
back. Then she was being dragged
away from the plant by her hair and then her
arms.
Tren had saved her, but
she was wracked with pain so intense that she almost
fainted. Everywhere the tendrils
had touched she felt as if she had been set on
fire. Like a good Erogenian she
gritted her teeth against the pain and fought to remain
conscious. “Got to stay
awake,” she gasped.
“Stay awake.”
Through the haze of pain
she sensed Tren looking at her; felt him loosening the ties on her outer
robe, but she felt no alarm. Her
injuries needed tending and to do that he would need to look at her
body.
Breathing was becoming more
and more difficult. Zenaria sensed
that she was blowing like a horse that has been run too hard, but she could
not seem to get enough air.
“That’s it,
Zenaria,” Tren said.
“Breathe. You’ve
got to fight against the poison.”
He opened her inner robe exposing her body to the waning desert
sun. It was difficult to gage
his reaction, but somehow his next comment seemed
hollow. “Don’t worry,
princess, you’re going to be alright.”
As if to refute Tren’s
comment, Zenaria began to shiver uncontrollably while at the same time she
began to perspire so profusely the sweat pooled between her breasts before
evaporating into the desert air. As her vision dimmed she felt a peculiar
calm came over her.
“I’m dying,” she
thought. Strangely enough the
thought didn’t alarm her, there was only a feeling of regret that her
foolish oath meant she was going to die a virgin, then her pain faded and
she slipped into oblivion.
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