“Zanna’s grandmother promised her a great mage and warrior for a husband when she read her fortune. Later, Zanna’s imagination might have added some extra virtues to the picture. You didn’t stand even close.”

“I see,” said Kan gravely and spread his hands in a defeated gesture. “Not a mage, not a warrior, just a usual guy… Yeah, I get it now…”

Kangassk heard the second worldholder snort behind his back in an attempt to stifle a burst of laughter.

“Hey, cheer up! She gave you the stone, after all,” Vlada patted his back again. “She’s giving you a chance…”

“Hmph! Like I need a snotty brat for a bride!” with that being said – in the most spiteful and offended manner – Kangassk turned his face away.

The pocket dragon went for his evening walk to stretch his paws and wings a bit. He tried his luck at hunting for a while but the only game for him there were gnats – nasty critters, hard to catch, no fun to eat – so he switched to burning grass instead. The tiny dragonlighter must have felt mighty and powerful now, finally having something to defeat. The poisonous moongrass burned and shrivelled, blue smoke curled and danced around him as he spat his tiny bursts of fire back and forth.

“That’s the lovely grass for you,” Kangassk said to himself, all the gloomy thoughts and dark regrets summed up in one phrase. “And I even kneeled to stroke it, like a fool…”

He counted that day among the bad ones, made a wish so the next day would be better, rolled himself up into his cloak, leaned against his charga’s furry shoulder for a pillow, and went to sleep.

Chapter 5. Red eyes effect

The last Region they had to cross on their way to the North was Shamarkash. It took them two days to reach a proper road leading there, the very road Vlada and Kan had followed since Border and then left to enter the Burnt Region. It made a long detour to keep the travellers safe from the worst anomalies of No Man’s Land; getting back to it was good news, at least Kangassk thought so.

That day they were finally not alone on their journey, the only downside of that fact being that the people they met had been terrified of them at first. To the five young traders armed with rusty swords and handmade crossbows, three strangers and two chargas looked like a mighty bandit army. The oldest of the traders was the same age as Kangassk, the other four were just kids. As to their goods, there wasn’t much in the cart pulled by a sad scrawny donkey.

“…It’s all honey, honey,” the elder trader kept babbling non-stop, still nervous after the initial shock. “It’s our first time on the road. Our land is famous for its honey, you know, yes, it is. So we decided to sell some. Who else would if not us? We’re the only youngsters in the village full of old people…” He fell silent for a few moments, then gasped as the realization struck him, “Oh, where are my manners! My name’s Astrakh. These are my friends Yles, Will, and Ergen, and this is my little sister Klarissa.”

The fifth trader turned out to be a girl dressed as a boy.

“Do you even realize what you’ve got yourself into, kids?” asked Vlada in a voice full of sincere pity.

Young, brave, stupid. Greenies. Children. It’s an adventure to them, a child’s play. Take your honey, ride to the nearest city, sell it, buy something cool, go back… What can go wrong, really?

“Is something wrong?” wondered Astrakh. He saw the warrior woman frown at his words and the tall man behind her nod in a grim and menacing manner but he still had no idea what was going on.

“It’s a miracle that you’re still alive,” explained Vlada, “that nobody has cut your throats yet.”